


To Our Wondrous Union

by winter_hare



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: ART!!!, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Auguste Lives, Illustrated, Laurent hates Damen, Laurent is born without one, M/M, No Regent, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, a lot more - Freeform, bad older brother, but I mean laurent's whole childhood was different so you never know, but nothing to worry about, but then a little fluff, but then a whole lot of angst, creepy torveld flashbacks, don't worry - no real fights, erasmus is sweet and lovely, get ready, get ready for a whole lot of angst, good king, he hates most people though, he's gifted to laurent and they become soft pals™, he's kinda shitty though, i have no idea how to write sword fights, i'm ignoring kastor i'm too lazy to deal with him, laurent is pretty pissed off this whole fic, marlas flashbacks, only sparring practice, pretty much he just cries a lot more, slightly OOC, yeah that still happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-06 00:51:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16821844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_hare/pseuds/winter_hare
Summary: Life after Marlas has left Laurent reclusive, his father slain at his uncles hands and his uncle slain by the court, not even Auguste had made it out victorious. The image of him kneeling at the feet of Damianos, the young victor was burned into Laurent’s mind. But there's something else eating at the Frigid Prince of Vere, even more than the distance and unfamiliarity of his brother--in a world where everyone is born with a mark to match their soulmate, Laurent seems the only exception. With love far from the horizon, a brother stolen away from him by kingly duties, and a resentment-racked diplomatic visit from Akielos, Laurent believes his world cannot get any worse. He isn’t used to being proven wrong, but his crumbling world crashes down when the true plot behind the Akielon visit is revealed. Quickly it becomes a race between fate, Laurent, and the one who beat Auguste in battle all those years ago.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “ It was a brief declaration: Vere and Akielos, united against their usurpers, allied in friendship and common cause.  
> He signed it. Laurent signed it. Damianos V and Laurent R, with a big loopy L.  
> ‘To our wondrous union,’ said Laurent.”
> 
> Excerpt From: C. S. Pacat. “Kings Rising.”
> 
> Title from this quote, I hope y'all enjoy <3 <3 <3 I had so much fun writing this and working with my two wonderful artists - I hope you like it too!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A super huge thank you to @hauntedorangemobile on tumblr for the stunning art that goes with this chapter <3 Check them out, you won't regret it!

_Laurent,_

_The banquet being held for the Akielon Royal Family will be tonight; it is positively mandatory that you attend. An outfit has been tailored for you and has been placed in your wardrobe, the servants know how to dress you. No ditching the cape this time; it displays your status as prince._

_And please, play nice. They have travelled very far to meet us. And while I cannot force you to, it would be good to be polite to Prince Damianos. I know your feelings about him brother, but that was many years ago. You must move on like I have done. You will be sitting next to him tonight and if you don’t speak to him they will notice. All eyes will be on us. Let this mess be cleaned up once and for all._

_~ Auguste_

The note sat on Laurent’s desk, cast aside after being skimmed. If you had asked him to predict its contents before he opened it, the degree to which he could would be altogether shocking if one had not been privy to the dozens he had received prior. Auguste’s confidence in him was waning, although not without reason.

Laurent stood casually in front of his mirror, eyeing the delicate patterning of the cape he wore. Draped over one shoulder was a beautiful navy cascade of fabric, the cape detailed with a galaxy of stars woven from silver thread. It could outshine the very sky. He gazed at himself with a determined look in his eyes. He hadn’t attended any sort of event in weeks, let alone something as important as welcoming the Akielon Royals, and if Prince Laurent of Vere was going to be seen publicly, he was going to be _seen._ This in mind, he had made some adjustments to what Auguste wished him to wear, namely: the corset. Tightened to what Laurent could handle, it trimmed his waist, creating a poised and dainty appearance he knew would send ripples through the court. It was doubtful if Auguste would approve, but honestly, Laurent found himself struggling to care. Auguste had been so busy lately, so distant. Laurent understood on an intellectual level, Auguste was king, of course he was busy. But it had taken so much more from him to realize that meant he also had less time for Laurent. On a familial level, Auguste had all but abandoned his brother. Their main form of communication was one sided notes from Auguste scolding and demanding things of his brother. They rarely saw each other outside of public appearances. Laurent had lost a father and an uncle because of Marlas, but in his heart he had lost a brother as well.

  


When he strode into the banquet hall he was almost shocked at the pure volume of people packed inside. The energy was raucous and loud, strange voices mingled with familiar ones. But underneath it all was the sour tinge of distrust, of anxiety. It was the delicate underbrush, tickling peoples feet under the tables and lurking under smiles. It was the frown behind a wine glass and the glance shared across the table. Akielos was a strange guest within Veretian halls. Marlas was still such a fresh cut. This meeting was to garner peace and instil trade once again, but Vere would not be quick to forget the battle that lost them a king, even if it was not by Akielon hands. Laurent remembered that day so vividly. The day Auguste was struck down in battle, the day his father was caught by an arrow called for by his uncle. The day he say his uncle hang for treason. He remembered Damianos, the young victor. He had been glowing from battle, Auguste kneeling at his feet, bleeding and defeated.

It was with that thought that Laurent laid his eyes upon Damianos. Draped in red, he was somehow not the man Laurent laurent had been expecting. The years had warped his memory of him. His name felt heavy on Laurent’s tongue. Their eyes locked and he was frozen in his place, blood turned to marble in his very veins. This wasn’t the man Laurent had been expecting, because this was not a man at all; this was a lion in the shape of a prince.

Suddenly, whatever the spell that had been cast over him was broken, and he was sliding gracefully into the seat next to Damianos, turning to him to speak.

“Prince Damianos, it is an honour,” he extended a hand to the other Prince, meeting his glance and making a point of not being the first to look away. This was his court, he would control the conversation. Damen flickered his eyes away, breaking the standoff.

“Prince Laurent, it has been many years,” Damianos spoke quietly, Laurent could feel him scanning his face.

“Interesting, that you would bring up our first meeting at a banquet intended to put such a thing behind us. But I will admit however I am surprised you remember me. If I recall correctly you were quite occupied with seizing my countries land and driving your sword through my brother, I didn’t think you would have had much time to acknowledge a child.”

Damianos spluttered, “I.. uh... I beg your forgiveness my Prince, that was foolish of me,” there was shock in his eyes, clearly, he was not aware of what he was walking into. 

“You’re right, it was,” at that Laurent turned his attention to the food in front of him, helping himself to an unfamiliar dish he assumed was served to honour the guests from out of the country.

Out of the corner of his eye Laurent watched Damen ask for more wine and aptly proceed to drain his goblet.

It was only after a few more goblets of wine and a couple hours of politely chatting with delegates that Damianos spoke to Laurent.

“Do tell me Laurent, what do you keep yourself busy with around the palace? I’m under the impression my stay here will be quite prolonged and I would very much like to acquaint myself with the proper experience,” Damianos queried with a light smile, a dusting of wine blush visible under the copper of his skin. The lilt of his accent had become more pronounced and softened some of the harsh Veretian words as they rolled off his tongue.

“I don’t know what you’ve heard but most likely it is a lie, day to day life is fairly mundane,” Laurent pulled at his tight sleeves, attempting to yank them even further over his wrists. Auguste’s note swam in his head: “ _play nice,”_ He continued as he poured a goblet of water. “Generally one starts the day with taking a pet in your bed, then a breakfast of wild hog tongue before heading into an afternoon of gambling on child pitfights and watching the lashing of treasoners,” he took a sip of his water, glancing to meet eyes with a horrified Damianos.

“W-what?” He choked out, turning fully to face Laurent, who smirked.

“A joke, Damianos. We are not barbarians,” He laughed at the relieved look on the other princes face. “I spend most of my time either in the training arena or in the library, I can’t imagine it’s much different here than in Akielos really,” Damianos still didn’t look completely mollified, but he let out a soft chuckle. So much for a joke.

It was then that a pet came over to take their dishes, and Laurent watched Damianos’ eye linger on the pets wrist. There, a large tattooed mass visible.

“You seem distressed Damianos, are you not finished eating?” Laurent prompted the other prince to speak, curious about his thoughts.

“The tattoo,” he looked wistfully at the pet, following his actions. “Why…” Laurent understood his confusion, a small squirm of uncomfortability washing over him.

“In Vere, when pets enter the trade their soul-marks are tattooed over, it relinquishes their former life, they belong to whoever holds their contract,” he drawled easily. This clearly distressed Damianos, a heavy crease forming between his eyebrows. Laurent tugged on his sleeves even more, suddenly feeling the heat from his clothing, tight and constricting. Even though it was not the custom in Vere he had almost no skin showing, deep down afraid of what would be said if it was. He felt his breathing grow laboured underneath his corset.

Laurent squeezed his eyes shut, hoping Damianos would change the subject, he regretted ever prompting him to ask about it.

_“Auguste!”_ Laurent squealed. He was seven, hair a wild halo around his head, and ink all over his fingers.

_“Look! Look what I did! It’s just like yours!”_ Laurent ran towards his brother, tiny feet leaving the ground as he was swept up into his arms. He thrust his arm under Auguste’s nose, brandishing the messy, lopsided sun he had drawn onto his wrist; the best mimic of the one on his brothers arm he could manage. He was too young to see the pained look hiding behind Auguste’s wide grin. He was too young to understand, too little to know why he was always told to wear a long sleeve shirt.

He was fifteen, hot tears running down his blotchy face as Auguste hugged him to his chest.

_“Why did the gods curse me like this Auguste,”_ he hiccuped, clutching onto his brother like he was the only thing that was keeping him together, and maybe there was more truth to that that Auguste knew.

 _“W-why me, why me. I’m a monster Auguste, a f-freak,”_ Auguste was silent, not even a king could know why Laurent was born without a soul-mark, maybe he had been cursed, maybe it was a sign from the gods. He simply held the quivering Laurent closer to him and stroked his hair.

“Prince Laurent?” the voice of Damianos pulled him from his thoughts, throwing him back into the overwhelming mess that was the banquet hall. He realized then that everybody had a glass raised in a toast, and he was hasty to mimic them.

“To a long and prosperous union, and to the future of our great kingdoms!” Auguste called to the hall. He stood at the head of the great table, King Theomedes at his side. It was a vision of rulership, a powerful and beautiful king, bringing forth a beautiful concept. An echo of agreement swept the hall, the cheer thrumming into his very core.

Damianos looked to him once again, speaking with a smile, “To union,” when their eyes caught Laurent felt like he was suddenly so small, tiny, he was thrust into the ocean inside of Damianos’ eyes, and all memory of how to swim was erased.

  
There was the screech of his chair against the floor and the swish of his exit. He had to leave, and he had to leave _now._


	2. Chapter 2

Laurents mind whirred as he ripped off his corset, strings whipping through his fingers as he scrambled to breathe. He threw it to the ground next to his discarded cape and doublet and stood there heaving. He collapsed back onto his bed, eyes stuck to the high ceiling of his chamber. He thought about Damianos. The way he had looked at Laurent, the way he had spoken to him, so quiet and intense. He was still that teen Laurent remembered, standing on the dais at Marlas, announcing his victory to the Veretian people. All unruly curls and powerful muscles. He represented everything that Laurent feared. But now, now Auguste was forcing him to work alongside this barbarian, him and his brute followers. Laurent hated him, he  _ despised  _ him. Screw the Akielons, screw Auguste. His brother couldn’t even come to tell him in person. Only send in a myriad of scathing letters. It was some cruel joke. An imposter had replaced his brother, some changeling, some fae, here to torment Laurent from afar. He groaned as he curled over on his side, clutching his knees. He screwed his eyes shut and tired to banish such a foolish notion from his mind.

He fell asleep like that, with the blanket of the cool evening dusk warping his features into something dark and twisted, changing him into the monster he thought himself to be. Morning came in the shape of a soft faced pet, hair full of the early sun and arms laden with a tray of food. He placed it on the small table across the room from Laurent and prostrated himself on the floor, not lifting his head to speak. 

“My prince, do you need assistance in dressing?” He spoke into the carpet, clearly shaking at the sight of the prince. Laurent could hear the familiar accent of an Akielon voice, this boy was a gift. He wondered if he could speak any other Veretian than what had been taught to him for this morning. 

“No, that is alright,” Laurent always dressed himself, the risk of being seen nude by another was too great. Laurent wasn’t surprised when the pet did not move from his position, he was waiting for a command. He had to give it to the Akielons, they knew how to train their slaves. 

His heart suddenly reached out for the boy, trembling on his floor. The swell of emotion surprised him, and he was even more shocked still when he found himself speaking. 

“What is your name?” his Veretian rang out through the room as he sat up in his bed, still dressed in yesterday’s tunic. 

A pause. 

“This one’s name is Erasmus, if it pleases you,” he said in slow, careful, Veretian. 

“You may speak your language Erasmus, it really does make conversation just that much more simple,” why he was speaking to this pet he could not say, but something in him felt sympathy for this poor creature. “You may sit up as well.” 

Erasmus’ face came into the light, flushing hard. 

“You are very kind my Prince,” his eyes stayed trained hard to the ground. 

“Tell me Erasmus, did you come with the Akielon delegation?” Laurent slipped his legs over the side of his bed, standing to wander over to the plate Erasmus had set down. 

“I did, my Prince,” the anxiety was clear in his voice, even as he spoke his mother tongue. 

“Did they treat you well in Akielos?” at this he could see Erasmus’ eyes light up. 

“They did, my Prince. They were very kind, very kind. When they told me I was to come to Vere with them I was thrilled, this is more than I ever expected to do in my life,” Laurent smiled and picked up a small pastry. 

“And what do you think about Vere, Erasmus?” Laurent watched the slave carefully, noticing a small tie around his wrist, Laurent could only assume what was underneath. 

“It is a most wonderful country, the people here are kind and beautiful,” Laurent considered what Erasmus said, ignoring the blatant lie of the kindness of his people. 

“Beautiful?” he leaned against the table. 

“Oh yes, my prince. In Akielos fair skin and hair is highly revered,” when Laurent looked to Erasmus he could now see that clearly. His sandy blonde hair was light for an Akielon, and his eyes were a clear shade of hazel. “If you would permit me to say so my Prince, you yourself are most beautiful, the stories of your elegance were not tales,” a small feeling rose in Laurent throat, wondering if Erasmus was speaking true and there was truly talk of him. It made him feel sick, a small crease formed in his forehead.

Erasmus prattled on about Vere, all flattery and awe, the fascinated ramble of a sheltered slave released into a new world. While he spoke Laurent noticed the letter placed with his food. His name written on top in a neat yet unfamiliar scrawl. He didn’t notice when Erasmus stopped speaking, aware of the fact that he was not being listened to. He resigned himself to sitting happily while Laurent picked up the small envelope. 

“Would it please my Prince to be alone?” Erasmus asked, ducking out of the room with a nod and a ‘thank you’ from Laurent. 

He sat on his bed with one leg bent and the other dangling off the side, he stared at the letter in his hands. He broke the seal of red wax, a lion pressed into the centre, the Akielon royal insignia. 

  
  
  


_ Prince Laurent,  _

_ How do you fare this morning? After you left the banquet in a hurry last night I couldn’t help but wonder about your wellbeing. I do hope I have not offended you in some way, the customs of your country are a language of their own I must learn. Do forgive me.  _

_ If you would permit me to, I would like to ask to retry our introduction last night, would you perhaps grant me a tour of the Royal Gardens? _

_ Eagerly awaiting your reply,  _

_ Prince Damianos of Akielos _

Immediately Laurents breath began to pick up. How  _ dare he.  _ How dense must he be, to write Laurent a letter like this, how he could move past what had happened so easily, so smoothly. He had no concept of what he was here. He was a guest within their halls but if he thought he was not the face Laurent saw when he thought of all that was evil he was sorely mistaken. 

  
  


Laurent lounged in the garden, a book placed in his lap. The smells of flowers all around him rippled through the air and surrounded him in a blanket of fresh spring. The Royal Gardens had sprouted early this year, launching into full bloom in late February. Deep in the garden was a small alcove, a little ring of seats nestled behind what felt like acres of roses. It was Laurent’s spot, his place of comfort. 

He was lazily flicking through pages, chin rested on the heel of his hand when he heard the soft crunch of boots on gravel. His ears perked up, and he lifted his head to see who was approaching. He had told a guard where he was going, but he thought that his schedule was clear for the day. There should be no need for someone to come looking for him. 

“Prince Damianos,” there was a stiffness to his voice when he recognized the figure. “I thought I informed you that I would not be touring you this afternoon,” Laurent was immediately irritated. The sanctity of his hideout was being completely compromised. 

“Prince Laurent, forgive me,” Damianos stopped in his tracks. There was a hint of surprise in his voice, and the way his eyes flicked around tipped Laurent off to his predicament. “In an attempt to navigate them myself I seem to have gotten myself somewhat lost in your gardens.” 

“Why is it,” Laurent snapped his book shut, “that we keep finding ourselves in situations where you are apologizing,” he cast a scathing look at the other prince. 

“I guess we do don’t we,” Damianos chuckled awkwardly, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck, tangling in the curls that sat there. 

“What are you reading?” he prompted, craning his neck to try and read the title. Laurent was fuming. Could Damianos not see that he clearly wanted to be alone? He had already denied his company once today, that should be wholly enough. 

“Unimportant,” Laurent snapped, shifting it out of Damianos’ view. It was in reality an old tomb, talking about some battle or another, but starting a conversation was the absolute last thing he wanted. 

They stood there for a moment before Damianos spoke again, Damianos looking awkwardly around the space while Laurent burned holes in him with his eyes. 

“I know you said you wouldn’t give me a tour but would it be too much to ask if you would show me the way out?” Laurent inhaled roughly and weighed his options. He could let the prince wander the gardens helplessly, he would find his way out, eventually. Or he could head the nagging in his head speaking with the voice of his brother. 

“Follow me,” and then without warning Laurent was on his feet, leaving the book on the bench he was ducking down a small path between two hydrangeas. He could hear Damianos behind him when he caught up, brushing branches out of the way and crunching through the underbrush. The path was overgrown, used only by Laurent nowadays. He could have found his way through them with his eyes closed, able to navigate them like few in the kingdom. He walked quickly, much quicker than Damianos was able. With his bulking form and unfamiliarity of the terrain he was easily outpaced by Laurent. The thought brought a small smile to Laurents lips. He took a sharp turn left and they emerged into another clearing of benches. 

“Where…” 

“Go down that path, take a left at the statue of King Bastien. It will take you back to the Palace,” Laurent cut Damianos off, and by the time he was done speaking he was already halfway back to the mouth of the trail they had come out of. 

“Wait!” Laurent stopped in his tracks, angling his head slightly so that his profile view was visible to Damianos. It was clear he hadn’t planned what he was going to say when he called out. 

“Thank you, Prince Laurent,” he called after a moment, brown eyes sparkling with a smile.

“If I was in your position, Damianos, I wouldn’t let it happen again,” and with that he was gone. 

  
  


“You’re  _ kidding  _ me,” Laurent looked down at the book on his desk. It was bound in leather, delicate gold filigree set into the spine and edges. It was relatively small too, most books he had encountered were great and heavy, detailing and droning until his eyes hurt. This looked like a book one traveled with. Emblazoned across the front in Akielon:  _ The Great War for Marcellus.  _

Laurent gingerly picked up the note that sat atop it, the red wax seal as gaudy and familiar as could be. He tore into it, moving gracefully to perch on the edge of his bed. 

_ Prince Laurent,  _

_ Everything is important if one cares to notice it. This book is from my personal collection, I do hope my taste pleases you. Although more delicately worded than the average book that speaks of war, I find this one to be just as enthralling. It is written in my tongue, but from my impression of you so far I believe it would be ignorant of me to assume that would be any sort of trouble for a mind like yours.  _

_ Warmly,  _

_ Prince Damianos of Akielos _

  
  


Flattery and stupidity. Where did Damianos think this would get him? Oh to be in the good books of the  _ Frigid Prince of Vere.  _

Laurent has the night to himself, there was another banquet that evening, how the court loved their banquets, but he had declined to go, deciding instead to spend the time alone in his quarters. It had been a few days since he had seen Damianos in the gardens, and since then he had managed to escape the eyes of anybody except for the few pets he allowed in his chambers. Most likely to the Akielons his absence must have been noted as odd, but surely every time a question was raised there was a Veretian to assure them that this was completely normal. Laurent didn’t venture into the court often. It disgusted him, truly. That horrid culture of pets, wealth, power, and sex was so far from anything he knew, it felt animalistic. There was a certain way that the court of Vere was built that allowed no one to be anything but the most twisted version of themselves; the more power hungry and depraved the better. They tore you apart, broke down every part of you until you stood in front of them dressed in nothing but your sins.  _ Cast iron bitch. Frigid. Recluse.  _ The words followed him everywhere, nipping at his heels in a way that made him feel like he was constantly looking back to see if the snake had finally caught up to him. He had grown so used to not caring. To shutting them out. To being shut out. It was his reality, and nobody could ever know why. 

  
  


He lifted the book he had brought over with him from his desk, immediately getting the notion that this book had been well loved. Damianos aside, Laurent wouldn’t condemn a book just because of its origins, and either way, he has just finished the book he had been reading earlier that day. Leaning back onto a mound of soft pillows he opened it, listening to the soft crackle of the spine. 

By the time Erasmus knocked on his door hours later, he was nearly half way finished with dried tear tracks running down his face. 

“Enter,” he called lightly. Not lifting his eyes from the pages. 

Erasmus slipped into the room, feet poking the ground lightly over to the bedside table where he placed a letter. He sunk in a deep bow, obeying a command that had come from Laurent a number of days ago instructing against full prostration. It was clearly odd to him still, breaking the habit surely drilled into him. 

“A message from the Prince of Akielos, my prince,” he spoke softly when Laurent turned from his book to face him. When they met eyes immediately worry was thrown across Erasmus’ face. 

“My prince!” he gasped, eyes wide with all the possibilities of what could have happened to Laurent. “Are you alright? What happened? Did somebody hurt you?” he immediately launched into a worried spill, and truly, it was more than anybody had worried for Laurent in a long time. 

“Hush, Erasmus,” he smiled, putting the book down on his lap. “Nobody has wronged me, it is the book I am reading,” a long look of confusion came across the slaves face. 

“If I may ask my prince, why do you read a book that would make you so sad?” Erasmus looked to the book in Laurent’s lap, puzzlement written all over him. 

“Do you never read for fun Erasmus?” Laurent only realized how stupid the question was once it came out of him mouth, but before he could think to amend it Erasmus had already voiced his realization. 

“I was never taught to read, my Prince. But I cannot think why I would want to if it makes you feel like this,” 

“It’s odd to explain, it’s like living a life that isn’t yours. Escaping into a different world or reality of sorts,” he stumbled slightly in trying to explain in Akielon; the more poetic parts of the language were harder to grasp than they were in Veretian. Erasmus looked to him with even more curiosity now. 

“May I ask what world is inside of that book, my Prince?” Laurent smiled, in such little time he had become so endeared by the Akielon slave. He had been a diplomatic gift, a slave for a Prince. Laurent had already considered adding the boy to his personal household, past simply the time he was required to be served by him to appease the rules of politeness. 

“It’s about a war that happened many years ago, it’s a real story but told like it’s the people who were in it are telling it, does that make sense?” Erasmus nodded excitedly. “There were these two kings long ago, and they both fell in love with one beautiful slave named Marcellus. They say his eyes sparkled like the stars and his hair was gold spun into thread. Both kings loved him so much that they went to war over who could have him,” Laurent waved his hands in the air as he spoke.

“Who won?” Erasmus wrung his hands in his lap, staring up at Laurent from where he now sat on his knees. 

“What nobody knew,” Laurent spoke excitedly, unused to having such a listener, nodding in rapt fascination. “was that Marcellus was already in love with another slave,” at that Erasmus actually gasped. It made Laurent smile with just how innocent the boy was. In the back of his mind though he did wonder if anybody had ever taken the time to tell him a story before. 

“What happened to Marcellus, my Prince,” even though Laurent hadn’t finished the book yet, he knew the ending from another book that had referenced it. He couldn’t bear to tell the sweet Erasmus of the tragic and gruesome end that had befallen him and his lover. 

“Together Marcellus and his soulmate ran away,” Laurent made up the ending as he went, “they escaped to another country where the Kings couldn’t find them, and they lived happily together in secret,” the smile on Erasmus’ face was worth the farse. He was beaming like Laurent had never seen. 

“I liked that story very much, thank you very much for telling me, my Prince,” Laurent smiled at the pure innocent joy Erasmus held within him. It had been so long since Laurent had found comfort in the presence of another person. He found himself smiling so often now when Erasmus was with him, smiling like Auguste had once smiled at him. He had to admit it scared him though. Laurent had never been close with anybody outside of his family, he had always been convinced that such a thing was simply not possible. 

“My apologies for bothering you from your book, but the letter I brought was instructed to be delivered with some urgency,” Laurent looked out the window of his room. The sun had long set, who on earth would be sending an urgent message so late at night? 

His eyes fell upon the letter being handed to him. Of course, the red lion. He tore it open with his fingers, scanning the short message quickly. 

“Grab my wax would you, Erasmus. It’s in the far cupboard,” he ran a hand through his long hair as he read. 

_ Prince Laurent, _

_ I was saddened to not see you at the feast this evening, I do hope a letter so late is not disturbing you. I wonder if you would not grace me with your presence tomorrow morn. I have heard of the fabled beauties of a Veretian sunrise and could think of no one better to spend one beside.  _

_ Fondly, _

_ Prince Damianos of Akielos  _

  
  
  


This brute truly could not take a hint to save his life, either that or he didn’t care. But the realization hit Laurent suddenly. He watched Erasmus carry over his wax with a swish of his small body, but all Laurent could do was stare blankly at the book on his lap. How had he not noticed, not caught on? It was him who hadn’t taken the hint. Damianos was attempting to  _ court him.  _ The thought made him absolutely nauseous. His stomach was clawing at his throat and his hands were suddenly restless. He couldn’t be, he can’t! Laurent moved into a panic mode. He got up from the bed, pacing to the window. The cool breeze of spring carried the scents of a hundred flowers and brushed against Laurent’s face, but he could think of nothing but Damianos. Auguste wouldn’t let this go any further, surely he didn’t know, he would have stopped this by now. Damianos of Akielos, brute and conqueror, courting Laurent, younger brother to the king he defeated in battle. It was comical. It was doomed. He turned back to his desk, stationary laid out accompanied by a stick of navy wax. 

Ignoring the heat to his cheeks he tried to write out a letter as professionally as his anger allowed him. 

_ If you wish to see a sunrise I’m sure there are many pets that would be glad to accompany you.  _

_ Prince Laurent _

  
  


He fell back on his bed after handing off the letter, but looked up with a crane of his neck when he didn’t hear Erasmus leave. He was standing awkwardly by the door. 

“Erasmus?” Erasmus looked to the floor, not meeting eyes with Laurent. 

“Forgive me my Prince. Prince Damianos asked that is you were to refuse his offer that I give you this,” he produced another letter from the slip he had on, and Laurent was surprised he hadn’t noticed it through such a thin layer of clothing. 

Laurent sighed, but look the letter when Erasmus handed it to him, who promptly left to deliver the previous response. Maybe Damianos was not quite as clueless as Laurent had thought. Although to think that courting him would not end badly was a mistake enough. 

_ Laurent, _

_ Surely if you do not wish to see the sunrise with me you cannot deny the offer to train with me. I will be in your arenas around midday, care to show me how to fight a Veretian?  _

_ Damianos _

Laurent thought long and hard, but came to a set conclusion. If Damianos wanted to fight him. Then Damianos would fight him. Laurent has trained all of his life to fight with one person in mind, and now he willingly suggested it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy there! I Hope you liked the first couple of chapters :) I wrote these back in July, so believe me when I tell you as the chapters go on they get better ;) 
> 
> Big Love,   
> Addie


	3. Chapter 3

“Prince Laurent!” Damianos walked into the arena with a great smile on his face. The noonday sun cast a golden light onto his skin. He was the prince cast in rippling bronze, as elegant and powerful as the statues. He was dressed in leathers, they were tight to his skin. More practical than his usual draped chiton. He walked towards Laurent with a sword in one hand, the other outstretched to shake. Laurent grasped his hand with a sharp squeeze, feeling the warmth of Damianos’ great palm against his. 

  


“I wasn’t sure if I was going to see you here, you didn’t sound very excited in your note last night,” Damianos peered around the arena curiously, eyes eventually landing on Laurent. He looked at Damianos scathingly. 

  


“Who am I to deny a challenge,” He said, hefting his blunt practise sword off of the rack. 

  


“Shall we begin then?” Damianos shifted, his body squaring, knees bending, jaw clenching. This was a warrior, powerful and brave. Undefeated. 

  


“I guess we shall,” with that Damianos lunged for his first blow, a painfully Akielon move. 

  


Laurent ducked away easily, body moving quickly and throwing his own blow towards Damianos’ side. 

  


With a parry Damianos called to Laurent. 

  


“You are quick my Prince, but you fight like a Veretian,” Laurent spun around with his sword in the air, Damianos catching the blade above his head. 

  


“Says you,” Laurent grumbled, “you move like a old woman,” at that Damianos laughed, bringing his weapon down in a powerful blow; one that Laurent sent crashing into the ground. The clangs of metal reverberated around the room, the air heavy with sweat and dirt. 

  


After a few blows coming dangerously close in Laurent’s opinion, he decided it was time to change his tactic. When Damianos attempted a classic Akielon faint technique, Laurent met it with ease, clearly startling his opponent. When Damianos came at him with another blow he met it once again, gritting his teeth with the shock it sent up his arm. Laurent was fighting with the knowledge of Akielon technique. 

  


They met eyes, Laurent’s narrowed in concentration, Damianos’ sparkling with a dark kind of amusement. 

  


“You may have more tricks up your sleeve than I thought,” Laurent filled with an odd sense of pride at the other princes words. 

  


They continued on for a while, Damianos striking powerful blows and Laurent dodging, parrying, and deflecting. Laurent’s employment of Akielon tactics had taken Damianos by surprise, but he had clearly adjusted. Afterall, if Laurent wanted to beat him at it than he should know what sort of game Damen played. He could tell what confused his opponent though was his blending of the two different fighting styles. Laurent favoured elements of both. Veretian fighting was the sport for the smaller opponent. One learned how to dodge and move, all while surprising your opponent with unexpected blows. On the other side, Akielons prefered brute force. Of course, while somewhat unattainable to Laurent based purely on physique, it had its charms in deflection and powerful striking. 

  


As they continued Laurent noticed a worrying reality: Damianos was slowly but surely backing him into a wall. The worry started to set into his movements. He was being more sporadic, more rushed. He was struggling in his attempt to escape to the side of Damianos when they were locked in such active combat. He could feel the wall close behind him, he was a cornered hare. Damianos’ blows became even more powerful, more rapid fire. He could tell he was winning. But Laurent wasn’t about to let that happen. In a last ditch attempt to free himself from the impending loss that could befall him - he thrust his body past Damianos, twisting around his side in a movement quick as a snake striking. But Damianos saw it all happen, predicted Laurent’s movements. With a flash he had taken a step back and pushed his body in front of Laurent’s trajectory, cutting his movement short and crashing him to the ground, sword at his throat. 

  


Laurent heard his sword skittering away from him as he slammed hard onto the floor, Damianos on top of him. The heaving breaths he was taking pushed the very tip of the blunt sword against his adam’s apple - if it was a real sword he would be bleeding. If it was a real battle he would be dead. That’s when his eyes met with Damianos’. The air hung thick between them, tension and exertion mixing with raw power. Brown eyes daggered into blue, and Laurent saw the determination inside the man. The lion. It struck him dumb. He was shocked at being beaten. He was shocked by the hard ground underneath him, by the weight of Damianos pinning him down with everything he had, and by the odd squirming sensation that suddenly tumbled to life in the deepest pit of his stomach. No, lower than that. And then there was heat, a warm strong feeling he had never known, stirring inside of him. 

  


“Get _ off me, _ ” Laurent growled, suddenly fighting against the weight of the other prince on top of him. Damianos was frozen, sword held aloft and jaw set. 

  


“I said get the  _ fuck off of me, you brute,”  _ that startled Damianos out of his stare, that as well as Laurent’s thrashing and clawing, ever wary of the dull practise blade pressing into his pale flesh. 

  


Then they were standing and Laurent was seething, storming out of the room, ears buzzing with the rage that coursed through his blood. 

  


“Prince Laurent! Wait!” But Laurent was already gone. 

  
  
  
  
  


Laurent was in his chambers, dirty, sweaty, flushed, and  _ pissed.  _ He closed the door with a snap behind him and moved to tear open the heavy curtains draping his window. Fresh air, he needed fresh air. What had happened? His fingernails dig into his palms. He had been so shocked, so surprised by the stirring inside of him. His eyes squeezed shut and he fell into the comfortable chair by his window. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and tried to banish that memory from his head. Damianos above him, panting and glistening. The exertion of combat written in the depths of his eyes. Laurent had never felt like that before, the odd rush had confused him in the moment. Of course he knew what it was, he wasn’t wholly uneducated. It must have just been part of the excitement of fighting, the blood already pumping through his body. But no matter how hard he tried to not think about it he just couldn’t banish the thought of Damianos from his mind. He knew what that feeling meant, at least in a completely technical sense. But that wasn’t how Laurent had expected it to feel, being truly honest Laurent had never really expected to feel it at all. He didn’t have a soulmate, so why taunt him like this? 

  


In that moment like so many before it he wished Auguste was there. Wished he was there like he always used to be, holding Laurent, telling him that all of his problems would float away like florets in the wind. Why did everything have to be so hard? Why did Auguste have to be so busy? 

  


For a single moment an idea flashed across in Laurent’s mind. What if he went along with Damianos’ courting? But then a surge of emotions filled its place. No, he could never let that happen. Because then he would find out, he would  _ know.  _ Nobody could know. He had told himself along time ago that nobody would ever court him, he wouldn’t let them. He would never marry, and he had come to terms with that. Nobody, especially not  _ Damianos.  _

  


“My Prince,” Erasmus knocked quietly on the door. 

  


“Enter,” Laurent blinked his eyes at the brightness of the room, they felt scratchy and wet. Erasmus entered with a small note, which he handed to Laurent.

  


“Thank you, Erasmus. I do wish to be alone right now though,” Erasmus nodded and slipped out quietly, a sweet vision of innocence. 

  


The note felt heavy in Laurent’s hands. He knew it was paper, but the tremor in his fingers made it feel like lead. He fumbled to rip it open. He was becoming horribly familiar with that red wax. 

  


_ Laurent,  _

  


_ I do believe I have failed you, I find myself once again begging for forgiveness despite your express request. Do forgive me for earlier, I was caught up in the moment and disrespected your wishes. That was a grievous error that should not have happened.  _

  


_ With this note comes a simple request, let me try again. Let us do something together, what that something is I leave completely up to you, my suggestions clearly don’t get us very far. But I do wish to spend time with you, to get to know you. We should be spending more time with each other if we are even to consider this deal. Marriage is an important decision.  _

  


_ Warmly,  _

_ Prince Damianos of Akielos _

  
  
  


Laurent for the second time that day found himself unable to move. So stunned and furious that he completely lost control of his body. 

  


_ This deal.  _

  


**_Marriage._ **

  


The word was bolded in his mind. It was the final piece of the puzzle Laurent didn’t even know he was putting together. It all made so much sense now. So much painful sense. 

  


Within moments the letter was thrown to the ground and he was bursting past his guards. He was going to see the King. 

  


When he approached Auguste’s rooms he was stopped by the guards. He recognized their faces. 

  


“Prince Laurent, state your business with the king,” they stood tall and proud. He glared into the eyes of the one that had spoken.

  


“I wish to speak with him about my  _ marriage,”  _ the words were ice on his tongue. They let him in. 

  


It had been so long since he had stood in Auguste’s rooms. It had barely changed from when his father had lived here. He spotted his brother sitting at his desk, parchment sprayed about him and a quill in his hand. 

  


“Laurent, wh…” 

  


“How  _ dare you,”  _ he lunged over to where Auguste sat, fire rolling off of him in waves. Auguste looked perplexed at Laurent’s anger, he opened his mouth to speak.

  


“No. How  _ dare you.  _ You set all of this up, didn’t you? This entire fucking visit. ‘For unity’ you said. Never thought to tell me it was me who was being fucking united,” Laurent’s nails dug into the wood of the table that he was leaning on; the only barrier between his anger and his brother. 

  


“ _ Laurent _ ,” Auguste put down his quill with a sigh. 

  


“We’re  _ brothers  _ Auguste! Does that mean nothing to you? Some days I don’t think it does. I don’t think you’re my brother anymore, you haven’t been for some years. My brother would never auction me off to the highest bidder like some fucking  _ pet,”  _ Laurent felt the hot prickle of tears in his eyes. 

  


“Please Laurent, don’t be upset,” Auguste looked into his brothers eyes, a pleading look on his tired face. 

  


“Then fucking explain. Explain to me why the man who I thought we hated believes I am to be his husband,” Laurent felt so betrayed, so lost. His final ally had crossed over, he was alone in this moment. 

  


“I have been talking for a long time with King Theomedes,” Auguste stood up, moving around the table to sit next to his brother who fell into a seat with disdain written on his face. “It is a known fact that Vere and Akielos are not as… strong as they once were,” 

  


“ _ Because they attacked us _ ,” Laurent gritted out. Receiving a look akin to ones he got when he was a child. It plainly told him to be quiet. 

  


“You know yourself, Laurent, that a royal marriage is an amazingly strong bond. We ourselves are the product of one,” Laurent was struggling hard to keep tears from falling down his face, but they were soon tracking hot paths down his cheeks. “You and Damianos are but five years apart, and now that you are of the age to marry it would be expected of you soon anyways,” Laurent’s throat was tight with a sob he wouldn’t let escape. “I will not lie to you Laurent; most likely within the next few days you will be officially betrothed to Prince Damianos,” this all felt like some horrible dream Laurent was living. This cold man, this was not his brother. Kingship had stolen Auguste away, the real Auguste. 

  


“You would send me off with the barbarians? Would you feel no remorse? When had you planned to tell me, the wedding day?” Pain was the only thing holding Laurent together, keeping him righted like a puppet.

  


“It would be for the country Laurent, for Vere, for  _ me. _ ”

  


“And who are you? My brother? Or my  _ king.”  _

  



	4. Chapter 4

It had been a fortnight since anybody had seen the likes of Prince Laurent. He had barred even sweet Erasmus from his rooms. His meals were placed in an adjoining room, occasionally notes appeared with them, but most of those found their way into the fireplace. The book Damianos had gifted him had been read nearly three times over, and the fresh flowers he used to like to have brought in were dead and crumpled. He knew soon he would be dragged out of the room, either by a king's guard or the King himself, and he really was honestly surprised they had let him wallow for so long. 

He knew the time had come when a heavy knock rapped on his door. He sighed, pushed his messy hair out of his face and allowed them to let themselves in. 

A guard stood in his doorway, one he didn’t know. He wore the crown with a starburst on his cloak, a man of Auguste’s guard. 

“Prince Laurent. You are required at the table of the King immediately,” Laurent looked into the man's sallow eyes, contemplating whether he should resist. He knew there was no reason too. He got up quietly and passed by him to the corridor outside. He thought about fixing his hair, about how big the circles under his eyes must be, but then he thought that Auguste should see what he did. 

  
  


“Laurent. It is good to see you, brother,” Auguste said, sitting at the same table Laurent had seen him last, but this time with all the parts of a luncheon laid out in front of him. 

“And you, my King,” Laurent muttered flatly, sitting across from Auguste. 

“Don’t be like that Laurent, please,” Laurent fumbled with the sleeve of his jacket, tugging and pulling at it. It was an old habit. “Why am I here.” 

“Is the King not entitled to have lunch with his brother?” Laurent did not meet his eyes.

“The way you say that makes it sound like you’ve actually made a move to interact with me anytime in the past five years,” there was a clink as Auguste sat down the fork that had been in his hand and sighed.

“The wedding is to be announced,” with just those words all the emotions that had been bubbling under the surface for weeks was released and he was sobbing. 

“It will be in two months time, Laurent,” Auguste continued as if Laurent wasn’t choking over his breaths mere feet away from him. “Theomedes requested it be held in Akielos, we of course will have to put in effort to learn their wedding customs, b…” Laurent was running out of the room. He couldn’t bear to hear Auguste speak so lightly of this. His eyes were fogged over as he ran and he barely saw the figure looming towards him as he turned a corner. 

He crashed hard and fast into Damianos, who caught him easily in his arms, clutching him in surprise. 

“P-Prince Laurent?” Laurent took in the concerned look on Damnianos’ face before he roughly shoved himself out of those great arms, feet slapping stone as he sprinted back to his room. His heart pounded in his throat and burned when he sucked in air. He hadn’t cried like he had recently over anything in so long. 

A month passed like the one prior. At first Laurent had cried. He had cried like he was a child again, losing everything. But then he slowly bled dry. Everything passed in a slow fog, all movements felt foreign, just like the face in the mirror. Betrayal, Laurent called it silently as he was carefully measured by a tailor. He closed his eyes as the tailor told him they would have to account for the Akielon sun when they picked what white he would be dressed in.  _ “It’s like living a life that isn’t yours. Escaping into a different world or reality of sorts,”  _ he had once said to Erasmus, and it had quickly become his gospel. When he was reading he was not living, not waiting, waiting for the day he would be married off. It was on a rare trip to the library that Laurent found himself anxiously awaiting the appearance of the person he could hear padding towards him. 

Damianos stopped in his tracks. Laurent wondered if it was another cruel joke from the gods that he would be thrust into yet another interaction with the other prince. 

“Prince Damianos,” Laurent was surprised by the quiet and raspy whimper that was his voice. Now that he thought about it, he probably hadn’t spoken in a matter of weeks. 

“Prince Laurent,” Damianos’ wide eyed look came into closer focus when he took an instinctive step towards Laurent. “It has been so long my Prince, you have not been seen in so long, people are worrying, I…” 

“Has it been announced?” Laurent interrupted, a bite in his tone that could never be lost.

“Wh-what?” Damianos spluttered, only to be cut into by Laurent again.

“Our wedding, has it been announced?” Laurent closed the book on his lap, slipping a bookmark casually between its pages.

“No, there is to be a great feast tonight in our honour, I… I thought you would have known” Laurent sighed at Damianos’ words, a shudder mixing its way in.

“There is many a thing I do not know in this kingdom, Damianos,” 

  
  
  


Surely enough, when Laurent arrived back in his room, one of the unopened notes strewn over his desk detailed the nights banquet. His eyes stung when he closed them, they ached and felt scratchy. But nonetheless he proceeded to carefully dress himself, not bothering to wait for a slave to come and assist him. Laces slipped through his fingers mechanically, eyes glazed over in the mirror. He barely noticed when a slave began to help, simply staring blankly into the reflection. The walk to the banquet hall felt longer than usual, his feet felt heavier. When he arrived, the weight immediately moved from his feet to the pit of his stomach. He could see where they wanted him to sit, directly in between the very two people he had been avoiding. 

Damianos and Auguste turned to greet him when he made his was over to sit. He swept into his seat with a polite greeting, ignoring the feeling of Auguste staring into the side of his head. 

There was this air about the evening, everybody in the court knew something was happening, they could smell it. All eyes darted back to the four people sitting at the head of the table, a vision of royalty. Two kings and two Princes. Laurent knew people dreamed of his life, dreamed of  _ him.  _ But they had no idea, they had no  _ clue _ what it felt like to be the one stared at, to be the one under scrutiny. He dreamed of it sometimes, to be less than a prince. To live in the world with his brother again, with his father, to have all the golds and silvers of the court shining their reflections somewhere else. 

And then Auguste was standing, and the court rippled. It was like watching a lake, waves catching sun, glinting and glistening. A hush fell.

“Ah, the time has come! An announcement must be made,” Laurent could feel Damianos tense in the seat next to him. “For many years, the relationship between Vere and Akielos has been torrid and bitter, but we forget so often,” Auguste looked out over the crowd, and in that moment he truly did look the part of a King. Glittering in the candlelight and booming over the heads of his people, he continued with a smile, “that it was one kingdom once,” Laurent clenched his jaw, he was trying to show as little emotion as possible. This was it, there was no going back from here. “But we have lost that unity, we have and fought and we have disagreed. But pointless wars are the games of children, we are all better than that. I as King have welcomed Akielos into our halls, and in the name of peace and unity we have come to a most wonderful conclusion,” Auguste looked down to Laurent, smiling, “There is to be a royal wedding! Prince Damianos of Akileos will wed my brother, Prince Laurent of Vere,” The court exploded with applause, enveloping Laurent in a blanket of noise, making his ears ring. 

People were raising drinks in a toast all around them, ‘to union!’ he heard called all round him, the words piercing a hole in his already fragile disguise of dignity and stability. He turned to Damianos, the other prince was looking over the crowd, a small twinge of something on his face, maybe it was discontent, maybe it was anxiety. Whatever it had been was quickly banished when Laurent turned to him, and whispered with a ill-covered shake in his voice, 

_ “To our wondrous union.” _

  
  


Glass clinked against glass, and something felt so surreal, he had been pretending none of this was real for so long that it was jarring, looking into the eyes of his betrothed, toasting to their wedding, the roar of the court all around them like a burning fire. 

  
  


Eyes were on them, they both knew. Damianos was the one who took the first plunge into conversation.

“A late spring wedding,” he smiled, “My mother would have been happy,” Laurent wasn’t entirely sure how to respond, he looked past Damianos nervously. 

“I have heard the spring flora in Akielos is most beautiful,” Damianos’ eyes lit up at the mention, Laurent could see it even in his peripheral. He shifted his gaze to the prince. 

“Oh yes, all of the traditional herbs and flowers will be in season, I can only imagine the beauty of them wound in your hair,” he continued, “Of course there is the tradition of crowns made of flowers, and that of sweetened almonds…” Laurent couldn’t help but tune out Damianos. It was an ignorant assumption to think that Laurent would not have read up on every Akielon marriage tradition known to Vere. But to hear Damianos talk about them so excitedly made bile rise in his throat. He felt ill, he felt trapped. Damianos had probably always known his spouse was to be some highborn from far away, he probably already had a line of concubines waiting on his slightest command. Laurent had heard the stories of Damianos, his unabashed use of slaves, his conquests, his habits. To have such a man in front of him was not unusual in Vere, but to have the prospect of being in that man’s bed in mere weeks, Laurent felt faint. 

The night ground by at a gruelling pace. With an amicable smile plastered on his face and stiffly held shoulders he weathered the banquet through quiet and uninteresting conversation. Not once during did he turn to his brother, and he spoke to Damianos as little as possible. Though he couldn’t shake the notion that he would have plenty time for conversation with the other prince to come.

Eventually, the buzzing grew so loud in Laurent’s ears that he could take it no longer, he would have to retire. With a gentle scrape he was gone, too distracted by his breathing to hear the footsteps behind him. He could feel his heart beating, buried deep beneath cloth and flesh. It was constricting, it caged in this thoughts, kept them from spilling like the tears that so often pricked at his eyes.

“Prince Laurent,” the voice startled him, surprise catching in his throat with a gasp. 

“Prince Damianos?” He was confused, why had Damianos followed him? What was his meaning by this? His racing mind was cut off by a small and delicate flower, dwarfed by the copper hand that presented it.

“My Prince, I will not be able to see you until our wedding, as the custom dictates,” Laurent cocked an eyebrow, still not understanding why Damianos stood before him as he did, and why he was suddenly so shy. “I,” Damianos paused, looking into Laurent’s eyes. “This reminded me of you,” Damianos smiled as Laurent took the flower out of his hand gingerly. Laurent felt the brush of their skin together, tingling where they met. Damianos tipped his head, a soft bow. “Farewell my prince,” and then in Akielon, “ _ May distance make the heart grow fonder. Farewell, Laurent.”  _

He hated him. He hated him more than anything in the world, and he could do nothing about it. 


	5. Chapter 5

It felt so far away to Laurent, the last night he had spent with Damianos. Sitting in the cool shade of his room he tried his best to ignore the sweltering Akielon heat seeping into him, making him tired and sweaty. He hadn’t seen Damianos in many weeks. He was here also, somewhere in the expanse of the palace in Ios, but Laurent had been kept isolated, for once not of his own accord. It was mostly only slaves that came into his rooms, they became familiar to him. The soft boned and tan faces of Akielon slaves, peppered in with the regular appearance of Erasmus. Erasmus seemed happier, the heat treated him well. There was a certain colour that was brought back to his skin, something that Vere had sucked out.

Laurent was sat on a plush cushion, a hand resting on the cool marble floor below him. One thing he had noticed quickly was that the floors and walls were always cool to the touch, no matter the heat that filled the rooms. It was as if ice ran through the pillars like blood. 

Erasmus kneeled behind him, deft fingers working a braid through Laurent’s hair. It had grown so long, in no time it would brush his elbows. Erasmus was humming a quiet tune to himself, clearly in good spirits. When he finished, Laurent tore his eyes away from the view out over the balcony, sweeping seas of gardens and fields below. He looked over his shoulder at Erasmus, now standing to leave. 

“I will return in a moment my Prince, I must fetch something,” Laurent nodded and looked back outside. What a strange world he had come to live in. The wedding was looming so soon, so  _ painfully  _ soon. It was a knife, buried so deep in his breast that it staunched its own bleeding. It was political. It had to happen, it was  _ going  _ to happen. That’s what he told himself. A repeated mantra made to block out the face of his brother, weary and distant. 

Auguste had arrived in Ios, he had heard the whisperings, but he hadn’t been allowed to see him. He wouldn’t have even if Akielon custom didn’t insist he be separated from the wedding party until right before the ceremony. The phrase rang through his head,  _ “May distance make the heart grow fonder,”  _ what an odd tradition it was. But, in reality, it had given him time to settle. It was political. He wouldn’t struggle against this, he wouldn’t fight this union. He had been so blind, blind to the truth of how far Auguste would go for him. He should have seen ages ago that he had become a cumbersome pawn in the royal chess game. It was simply his time to play. 

He was taken out of his thoughts by Erasmus coming back into the room, but he could tell immediately that something had changed, the ever present smile had been banished from Erasmus’ face. Replaced by a soft twinge of fear in his eyes. 

“Erasmus?” Laurent rose to his feet, taking a few steps towards the young slave. 

“My Prince, I - uh,” he paused, avoiding eye contact with Laurent. 

“What happened? Are you alright?” In his head he was already plotting how to deal with the person who had caused this, how dare someone not show a slave of the royal household respect, un- his thought was cut off by Erasmus.

“No, my Prince, it is only… I was instructed to administer a lesson to you,” Laurent was taken aback. A lesson? 

“What lesson could you give that I do not already know? Trust me when I say I am well versed in the traditions of Akielon culture. And surely you know well enough from conversing with me in your tongue that I understand your language,” he studied the pained look on Erasmus’ face. 

“Of course my Prince, you are very educated. This one only meant, certain knowledge is easier to gather from,” Erasmus wrinkled his face, searching for a way to explain something, “...explanation, diagrams can only do somethings so much justice,” Laurent could tell this was tough for Erasmus, he was slipping back into his old, more formal, way of speaking. It was almost as if he was scared… of Laurent.

“I… I must admit I am confused,” Laurent stood, perplexed, when he noticed the small box Erasmus hed behind his back. Before he could ask anything of it though Erasmus parted his lips to speak.

“I have been instructed to teach you… the ways of pleasure, my Prince,” it was as if the sweltering spring air had been sucked out of the room to be replaced with ice. Breath rattled in Laurent’s throat. 

“One’s first night is of the utmost importance in Akielos, I can help prepare you for what is going to happen,” Erasmus gave a shy smile, the fear was still clearly present at the surface. It bubbled underneath Laurent’s skin too, he felt like he was going to vomit.

“Damianos, he…” Laurent had heard the stories, there was no doubt in his mind that they were true. “This will not be his first night, I have been told he is somewhat… experienced,” 

“Prince Damianos has lain in the bed of others, yes,” Erasmus nodded, “Among royalty the practice has become quite common,” 

“He, I…” Laurent squeezed his eyes shut, moving to steady himself on a bedpost and sinking down onto the plush mattress. “He will expect things of me… I’ve never,” Laurent trailed off, watching Erasmus follow him to the bed, kneeling delicately on the floor near him. 

“I know, and that’s alright, that’s why I am here to help, my Prince,” Laurent bit his lip, weighing options in his head. He had heard stories of it being painful, of gastly things like blood and tearing. The thought of that terrified him more than anything. 

“Teach me,” he said, the finality in his tone an echo of fear, the fear of not knowing. The fear of what was to come. 

Laurent didn’t speak again for minutes, just silently letting Erasmus flutter about him, helping him out of his outer layer of clothes. It was only when he sat cross legged in front of Erasmus in a loose undershirt and pants that he remembered about the strange box Erasmus had carried in. It sat in between them now, it’s contents a mystery. 

“My Prince, I might ask that we abandon all sake of modesty, things will go more smoothly that way. Learning will not come if you are not open to it,” Laurent nodded, anxiously playing with the tie at his wrist. He could feel the beat of his heart in his throat and the heat of a flush on his face. His eyes bore into the box. Erasmus’ next words shocked Laurent out of whatever daze he had been in.

“Do you touch yourself, my Prince?” 

  
  


“I, well, I…” Laurent had always been so,  _ afraid _ of that side of himself, the side of pleasure and love. He kept it locked deep down. “No, I… Never.” 

  
  


“Never?” Erasmus asked softly, looking at Laurent curiously. Laurent shook his head. He was almost embarrassed at just how little he really did know. Erasmus hummed with a curious lilt to his tone.

  
  


“That’s alright, we just have a little more to learn,” He pushed at the latch to the box, slipping a hand in and pulling out a small phial. He pushed the box aside, unlatched. He looked to Laurent, they made eye contact, Erasmus had a small comforting smile dusting his face but there was something else Laurent noticed. The small line of black around his eyes, the shimmer of gold on his lids, the pink of his lips. Erasmus was no household slave, he had not been an ordinary gift. The Akielons had gifted him a  _ pleasure slave,  _ and he was stepping into his arena. 

Laurent felt so vulnerable, so green,  _ it was just Erasmus _ , he kept telling himself, but his brain could only see the looming figure of Damianos. 

“Do not be afraid my Prince, we will go slowly,” Erasmus coaxed carefully, “The act is supposed to be enjoyable,” he continued, “If it is alright I would like to show you how to make it enjoyable for yourself,” the context of what was coming out of Erasmus’ mouth was still so shocking to Laurent, to think or Erasmus as a sexual being, let alone as one trained for that very act, was jarring, to say the very least. He just nodded along to what was being said. 

“Depending on what your preference is, I can show you the important things. Since you are so new, and Damianos is known to prefer the dominant role it might be more advisable to know more of the…traditionally submissive anatomy,” Erasmus spoke quietly and calmly, like he was trying not to spook a wary horse. Laurent had never thought about… roles, he had never thought about sex ever really. At least not in a way pertaining to his involvement. “My Prince, would you prefer if I began to show you on myself? Or would you like better to experience it yourself?” Laurent didn’t wish to take away so much of Erasmus’ modesty, he wouldn’t make him demonstrate on himself. What good would that do anyways, it would only drag this out longer than it had to be. 

“You don’t have to do that for me, just, I can do this,” he took a deep breath. What did Erasmus have in mind when he said experience? 

“My Prince, from here it might be best to continue without clothing impeding the way,” 

“Of course, I,” Laurent trailed off, blushing, he fiddled the ties to his trousers. Slipping them off he sat on his knees, attempting to pull his shirt down and cover himself. 

“You can lay on your front, it will make things easier,” Erasmus moved to the side, allowing Laurent to shuffle onto his belly. His heart thumped so heavily he could feel it against the soft blankets beneath him. 

“The connsumationary act after ones wedding usually will involve penetration,” just the word made Laurent’s skin crawl. Erasmus took no notice, continuing somewhere behind Laurent. He felt Erasmus shift on the bed. “Prior, it is best if you prepare your body, either during the act, or a little while before,” Laurent heard the small clink of a phial being opened. “May I touch you, my Prince?” 

“Yes,” it was a whisper into the pillow, his throat closing up. 

And then, Erasmus was gently spreading his legs, the brush of his fingers feather light. When a slick finger pressed ever so gently at his entrance he gasped audibly. 

“It is okay, my Prince. We will go slowly,” Laurent gasped out a response as Erasmus began to carefully circle that part of him. He was stuck by the feeling of vulnerability again, this was so personal, so intimate. Laurent gasped ever so lightly into the pillow when the tip of Erasmus’ finger slipped inside. Oil guiding his way, Erasmus began to push in deeper and deeper, slowly coaxing his slender finger with minute movements. 

It didn’t necessarily feel good, Laurent thought. It was quite uncomfortable honestly, it didn’t feel like anything should be there. It was a sort of odd burning type feeling, mixed with an unpleasant prodding. 

Erasmus waited a long while before he began to tug at the sides of Laurent, slowly making room for when he slipped in a second finger. Laurent sucked in air. Two was definitely more uncomfortable than one. There was an odd tingly sort of burn that came with it, but that was nothing compared to when Erasmus began to spread his fingers, pushing painfully on his insides. 

“Is it… supposed to hurt,” he grit out, a waver in his voice trembling out. He clutched onto the blanket underneath him. 

“An unpleasant feeling is natural, do not worry, it shall pass,” Erasmus’ voice was soothing, it helped to remind Laurent that this was okay, this would help him. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to focus on the sensation. 

Two fingers became three, and Laurent got more and more used to the strange feeling. How he was supposed to be enjoying this though, he had yet to figure out. When Erasmus slowly slid his slender fingers all the way out Laurent let go of the breath he had been oh so consciously holding. 

Not entirely much more happened, and most of what did Laurent blocked out. Erasmus had eventually left the room, the soft scrape of the door on the hard floor digging into the back of Laurent’s eyes. Every noise was much too loud, even his own breathing was deafening. 

Laurent sat with his back against the headboard. Eyes screwed shut and arms clutching himself, he felt so scared. So scared and wrong. His body felt like someone else’s, the strange dizzy feeling was fading away but it didn’t take with it the tremor. That awful shake that rippled through Laurent’s body. He clenched his jaw so his teeth wouldn’t clack together. He pressed the back of his head into the smooth wood, he could feel the braids there pushing into his skull. His face screwed up, warped into an awful caricature of pain. He wouldn’t let himself cry. Not now. Not again. The world didn’t deserve anymore of his fucking tears. He wouldn’t cry - not for Auguste, not for Damianos, not for himself. This was his battle to fight, and if everyone he held close had forsaken him then so be it. He would fight tooth and nail, but what for, Laurent suddenly couldn’t even remember. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So, I didn't realize that I had made a mistake in uploading and accidentally put up chapter 4 twice! This is the r e a l chapter 5, no tricks this time I swear! 
> 
> Also, teeny warning, this chapter gets a touch explicit so if you tend to read in school like I do, maybe bookmark this one for later <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disregard this if you're new, but for those who have been reading chapter by chapter I apologize for the mishap on Monday when I uploaded chapter 4 twice! Chapter 5 actually up now, so if you haven't read that I recommend that <3 
> 
> Also, this chapter is one of the longer ones and just might be my favourite ~ enjoy! 
> 
> Addie

_ Tomorrow.  _ The word hung in the air like a coin dropped in honey. Unwelcome, sickly sweet, enveloping. Erasmus was buzzing, positively vibrating with excitement. There hasn’t been a wedding at the palace in years he told Laurent, too long ago for him to even remember. Laurent listened casually, but his brain felt like it was full of that strange honey as well. Nothing felt quite right, the world was draped in a haze, filling up the cracks in Laurent’s torn reality. 

“You will see King Auguste tonight,” Erasmus explained when Laurent asked why he was being dressed up. The words washed over him, sinking into the honey. He didn’t respond, only watched as Erasmus did up the ties on his doublet. 

It was the walk to Auguste’s rooms that finally helped where he was going set in. The strange halls, too tall, too many windows. He’d only walked them once, delirious and sore from the long ride to Ios. Every step he took now was leaden, too heavy. His feet felt so far away from him. He was ushered into the large room by faces he didn’t know, hands holding weapons he had never fought. Akielons.  _ The Prince of Vere,  _ they announced, he could tell they had no respect for him. He was still the foreign prince. He would always be foreign here, no matter who he was married too. These weren’t his people, they never would be. 

“Laurent?” He heard Auguste before he saw him. Funny, how quickly your greatest comfort can become your greatest fear. Laurent’s hands shook, he grabbed onto his sleeves to still them. 

“Oh, Laurent,” Auguste rushed towards him, gathering him up in an embrace. Laurent didn’t try to hug back, letting his arms hang limply as his brother wrapped himself around him. Auguste pulled back, scanning Laurent’s face, moving a hand to tilt his brothers chin upwards. Auguste always was taller. “Look at you,” he said quietly, eyes roaming Laurent’s face. “I’ve been thinking so much about you…” Auguste sighed, his warm breath tickling Laurent’s eyelashes. 

Laurent looked at his brother. His hair was longer, brushing the tops of his broad shoulders. It seemed curlier, and more gold than ever. The Golden King of Vere. How long had it been since they had seen each other, two months maybe? Longer? Laurent didn’t know, he didn’t care really. 

“Have they been treating you well? You look so tired, I’ve never seen you like this,” Auguste thumbed at Laurent’s cheek. He knew the colour wasn’t there anymore. His skin had become lifeless and cold. There were broken blood vessels around his eyes. When it wasn’t up in one of Erasmus’ intricate braids, his hair was flat and oily, hanging in great sheets around his face. He was a like shadow, he hadn’t really been whole for years, but now he was just a wisp, grasping at threads as he dissipated off into the mist.

“They treat me fine,” he said, no louder than he needed to with Auguste so close. Auguste moved his hand to stroke Laurent’s hair, running a small braid between his fingers. He closed his eyes slowly, his other hand resting on Laurent’s arm, his palm warm and strong. 

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness brother,” Laurent could feel the tired energy rolling off his brother in waves. The words he spoke felt so distant. “I’m trying to do the right thing, I’m trying so  _ hard.  _ But I know I’ve done you wrong,” he could feel the sincerity of Auguste’s words. “I wasn’t ready,” Laurent tried to remember a time when he had ever heard his brother sound so broken, so small. He couldn’t. “I wasn’t ready for all of this, being king, and I lost you, Laurent.” 

“You’re right,” Laurent breathed. Auguste’s eyes opened, meeting his in a gaze.

“You don’t deserve my forgiveness.” 

  
  
  
  


Erasmus woke him before the sun rose. That is, assuming it can be called waking if you were never really asleep. Laurent was cocooned in his sheets despite the heat of the morning, denying the reality of the day. He used to do it as a child, just wrap himself up and pretend the word didn’t exist. Sometimes Auguste would even join him, a bundle of giggles and blonde hair. But that was another time. Now he unfurled himself, and quietly padded over to the washroom where a hot bath had been poured for him. He locked the door before he undressed. Erasmus never asked him why. He hissed when he slid his foot in, the heat scalding his skin. The noise broke the quiet of the morning, echoing off the deep walls. As Laurent slipped into the bath he thought about Damianos, something he hadn’t allowed himself to do. What was he doing? Was he awake yet? Laurent wondered how he felt, if he was nervous, or if this was just another day to him. 

He sunk down and pushed his head under the water. He could feel his hair tangling around his face, he could feel the hot press of the water on his eyelids. It was comforting, but so quickly he needed air. He could feel the burn in his lungs as they begged for him to open his mouth and gulp in the water. He gasped when he hit the steam thick air, bursting out of the water. He could see the sparkle of water weighing down his eyelashes. He got out soon after and dried off before heading back into the main chamber where Erasmus was. 

Erasmus had laid out a great number of flowers, covering Laurent’s bed and desk in a snow of white. The room smelled so strongly of them it took Laurent aback. 

“Flowers…” was all he managed to mumble out before Erasmus was sweeping him over to a chair he had moved to the centre of the room. Quicker than lightning Erasmus had a brush and was pulling it through Laurent’s damp hair, tugging gently at his scalp. Erasmus was humming again, he noticed, he could see the smile on his sun kissed face in the mirror before him. By the time he was done, Laurent’s hair had dried completely, and what felt like half of the white flowers sprayed across the room were woven onto his head. It was beautiful he thought, reaching up a hand to touch one of the delicate blossoms. Light was creeping across the sky, painting the room in soft pinks and oranges. They danced around Laurent, adding colour to his face he knew wasn’t his own. 

Erasmus carried over a bundle of beautiful fabric, it was tinted ever so slightly lavender, and it slipped through his fingers like it was woven from water. Balanced on top were two golden cuffs, glimmering and shining. Erasmus slipped them on him, over top his undershirt, delicately clasping them. They felt heavy, but the weight lifted off Laurent’s chest was immense. He hadn’t been sure if Akielos followed the same ceremonial tradition of covering soul marks for a wedding. The second cuff clinked into place. 

Tugging the sleeves of his undershirt out, Laurent was slowly undressed. He stood in front of the mirror, wearing only the golden cuffs until Erasmus delicately draped him in the fabric of his wedding wrap. He felt odd. The cuffs made him feel owned.

_ “My brother would never auction me off to the highest bidder like some fucking pet,”  _ his own words stung in his memory, rising in his throat like bile.  _ No. Don’t think about him.  _

“You look so beautiful, my Prince,” Erasmus has moved to stand behind him, admiring his work. “I’m sure Damianos will think so,” the words meant nothing to him. He looked at himself. He looked so… regal. Draped in the heavy fabric and laden with the sweet smelling flowers he looked the part of royalty, all dressed in white. White, for the Virgin Prince of Vere. 

  
  


“The ceremony is to be held soon, you will have to go down soon. Someone will come to escort you.” 

“Will you not come with me?” Erasmus’ eyes went large in the mirror, looking past Laurent’s shoulder. 

“Oh no, my Prince,” he breathed, tint rising on his cheeks. “My status is much too low,” Laurent frowned. 

“What point are guests if I don’t know them,” he said flatly, looking down at one of the cuffs. 

“But you will know them my Prince, so many have come from Vere, and there will be many people of great importance. Your wedding has brought more people to the Palace than has been seen in many years.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


And so it seemed Erasmus was right. Laurent was in some sort of antechamber, a large room with a set of great doors that lead into the Ceremony Hall. He could hear the buzz of hundreds of people, all ruffling their feathers and preening themselves in front of royalty. He had listened to Theomedes be brought in, and then his brother, and then Damianos. Time was sluggish, passing like a bad dream you just can’t bring yourself to wake up from. Laurent wasn’t ready for it to all lurch forward so quickly when he heard his name boom out over the hall.

_ His Highness, Laurent, Prince of Vere and Aquitart. _

  
  


The doors were opened and he felt his feet carry himself forward, he had so far to go… 

It all passed in a blur. He remembered people, so  _ many  _ people. He remembered Damianos, an anxious smile seemingly painted onto his face. He remembered their hands being tied together with a golden cord, the words he spoke washing over him, the ringing of his ears, the feeling of his brothers hand on his shoulder, the press of Damianos’ lips against his own. 

  
  


He remembered it all, so suddenly and strongly as he walked down a long hallway, towards his new chambers. Towards Damianos’ chambers. Everything crashed so abruptly down upon him. Every detail about the last month or so, everything that had been part of the haze. He was so  _ awake.  _ But oh how he wished he wasn’t. Damianos padded softly behind him, the rustle of his red cloak loud in the quiet. Fear bubbled inside Laurent, from the tip of his nose to the pit of his stomach he felt icy. He knew what was coming. 

They reached a door, the guards that were with them opening it and taking their places. Laurent passed over the threshold, and even just the sight of the room broke something inside him. He didn’t even know he had anything left to break. He stood in the centre of Damianos’ room, and one of his hands found the pin on his shoulder. He felt a hot tear dripping down his neck before he even realized he was crying. He shook as he unclasped it, letting the soft fabric slide off his shoulders. He heard Damianos enter as he fumbled with the tie at his waist. Without it, the fabric would fall to the ground. 

“Laurent! What are you doing?” He heard Damianos run towards him, he turned his face away and kept pulling helplessly at the tie. He stopped when he felt a hand wrap over his, holding him tightly. He didn’t understand, why was Damianos stopping him?

“Do you wish to undress me yourself?” he hiccuped out, he sounded so young and stupid. 

“Wha- No, please don’t undress for me, Laurent,” his grip on Laurent’s hands got tighter, and Laurent’s shoulders tensed at his words. What the hell was he talking about?

“Would you have us consummate fully clothed?” He hissed, a flare of anger mixing with the salt on his face. Damianos was taken aback, but he didn’t move his hand. 

“You misunderstand me, husband,” Laurents mind spun at that word.  _ Husband.  _ “We are joined now,” Damianos gently pulled Laurent’s hands into his own, a haunting echo of earlier. “There is to be trust, respect,” They met eyes, the warm brown of Damianos’ whirling with worry. “Maybe one day there will be love but I dare say that night has not come so quickly. I don’t expect us to join in the marriage bed tonight,”  _ Tonight,  _ Laurent’s brain echoed. “Or ever, if you wish it that way.” 

A sob tore it’s way up Laurent’s chest, coming out choked and high. Damianos pulled him over to the bed, sitting him down carefully and settling near by. He was just close enough to be comfortable and still slip his hands by Laurent’s arms to re-clasp the fabric, covering his chest to the night air. Laurent sobbed, rattling breaths wet with the pain he hadn’t let himself feel in so long. 

“I’m so sorry,” Laurent struggled out, rubbing his face furiously of tears. In the heat of the moment he accidentally slipped into Veretian. Damianos’ voice was soft and calm in response, he spoke Veretian. 

“There is nothing to be sorry for.” 

“No,  _ no.  _ There is,” Laurent looked to the other prince, to his  _ husband,  _ and felt such a strange surge of emotion. “I-” Laurent was sure his entire head had gone red from the crying. He could feel his body shaking, and he jolted when Damianos put a hand on his back. 

“You’re shaking,” He said calmly, pulling Laurent closer to him. Any other time Laurent would have pushed him away, would have said something horrible. It was Damianos, a man he had hated longer than he understood what hate was. But in that moment he needed the touch so badly, he needed to be held and comforted and hushed.

Damianos pulled him into his arms, carefully resting his head atop Laurent’s, flowers be damned. Being in Damianos’ arms was strange. He was so  _ warm,  _ Laurent squeezed his eyes shut and clutched at the fabric covering his husbands chest, trying to pretend everything was okay. Damianos even smelled warm, the scent of tea and spice filling Laurent’s lungs as he roughly sucked in air. They sat there for a long time, Damianos’ arms entwining around Laurent, holding him close. Laurent was finally calming down when Damianos spoke. 

“Can I get you anything? Would you like some water?” Veretian words sounded softer in his mouth. The hard edges and quick stops Laurent was so used to were slow and soft, feather light on an unfamiliar tongue. He nodded, feeling the arms around him slowly unravel. Suddenly, sitting there alone felt so wrong, and he hurried to scramble up to the headboard of the bed, pulling his knees to his chest. 

As he watched Damianos step over to the table he realized how smoothly the man moved. You’d think someone of his size would lumber and grunt, but Damianos was light and quick on his feet, lifting what looked like a heavy jug of water with ease.  _ A warrior. _

Soon he returned to where Laurent sat, passing him the goblet. Laurent looked at his husband over the rim, stealing glances to stare at him. He sipped the water and tried to recall all he knew about the strange man in front of him.  _ A killer.  _

“How old are you?” Damianos asked, looking curiously to Laurent, a hand reaching up to the back of his head, tangling in the curls there.

“Eighteen,” he answered, not bothering to lower the goblet from his face. His voice had been soothed slightly from the water, losing its edge. Damianos’ eyes went wide.

“Eighteen?” He breathed, an air of incredulity coming out with it. His eyebrows scrunched together. 

“Is that not to your taste?” Laurent took another sip of water.

“No, I only,” Damianos hurried to explain. “I forgot you were younger than me,” he said with an embarrassed smile, not meeting Laurent’s eyes. 

Laurent nearly snorted into his water cup. 

“You think I act older than you?” There was a lightness to his own tone, one he didn’t expect. One he hadn’t heard in a while.

“I mean it’s not that crazy! You act so… regal, it’s quite intimidating,” Damianos smiled, leaning back on an arm. Laurent couldn’t ever remember being called intimidating, but maybe that was less so because it wasn’t true and more so because he had never let anyone get close enough to tell him. How he had let his guard down so far tonight he couldn’t understand, and how he had let Damnianos of Akielos inside he understood even less. Surely if his world kept flipping like this it would flip right side up again soon. But at this point what was normal? Fighting with Auguste? Hiding away? Or maybe normal had never been there. Maybe Laurent had never been meant for normal, from the moment he was born different. 

Exhaustion swept over Laurent suddenly, the quiet allowing for a crashing wave of all the hours he had lost. His eyes fluttered shut, he could feel the burn of Damianos’ stare on him. It was only then that he realized how odd he must seem to the Prince. Shut away, cruel,  _ intimidating,  _ covered in tears. 

“You should sleep, we have another big day tomorrow,” Damianos stood up, walking over to a big wardrobe in the next room. He rifled around inside, emerging with a large shirt that looked vaguely Veretian, or maybe Patran. It looked like it had been seldom worn. He handed it gingerly to Laurent. “For you to sleep in,” he walked over to the mirror, another shirt in hand, and began to undress. 

Laurent’s face flushed hot. He looked away with a snap, clutching onto the shirt he had been handed. 

“Oh,” he heard Damianos still. “Excuse me, I didn’t think,” he gathered up his things and moved to the other room, closing the door quietly. Laurent began to work on the delicate tie at his waist, and found that it came undone much easier without the panic of before. He was soon in the large shirt, crawling underneath the soft blankets of Damianos’ bed. His head rested on the pillow, feeling his eyes fall shut and his breathing start to slow. He heard Damianos come back in, listening to the soft slide of his feet on the stone floor, The bed moved as he climbed in, far from Laurent. 

“Goodnight, Laurent,” Damianos mumbled quietly, voice low and heavy. 

“Goodnight, Damianos.” 

“Damen,” he corrected, warmth surging into his tone.

“Hm?” Laurent was too tired to fully comprehend on his own.

“Please, call me Damen, Damianos is so formal.” 

“Goodnight, Damianos,” Laurent floated off with the idea of calling the man snoring softly next to him by a nickname. A nickname, hiding a name he had spent so long hating. 

  
  


~~

When he awoke he was alone, only a small depression in the bed and a lingering feeling of unease was the only evidence Damianos had been there. The only evidence  _ Damen  _ had been there. Laurent looked up to the high ceiling, blinking his eyes at the bright morning light as he remembered some of the last moments of last night. He had asked Laurent to call him Damen. The name sounded wrong, even when it was just in his head.  _ Damen.  _ Laurent inhaled deeply, trying to breathe sense into himself. It was no use, his mind was too clogged with sleep. He closed his eyes again, slowly feeling the tug of sleep beckoning him. 

  
  


He was back at Marlas. The smell of blood was thick in the air, it made him want to retch, burning in his lungs. But he couldn’t, he didn’t have time. He was running as fast as his legs could carry him, stumbling over loose rocks as he sprinted through the camp. He ran towards the voices, towards the chaos, he had to know, had to see for himself. 

“Auguste!” the name tore its way out of his throat, cracked and hoarse. Tears were on his face, but he didn’t care. His brother was there, his brother was alive. A hand caught his arm, snatching him backwards. He struggled and yelled with all that was left inside of him. He had to get to Auguste. He could see his brothers face, bloodied and bruising, his nose looked broken. He was being pushed onto his knees, hands roughly tied behind his back. The armour on his chest was gone, and Laurent could see the deep red of blood seeping from wounds. He was bleeding out. 

“Untie him,” Then he saw the other man. His shoulders were broad, his nose was strong and his skin tan. An Akielon. He could be nobody else, this was the prince,  _ Damianos.  _ Laurent screamed for his brother, quickly muffled by a rough hand over his mouth. Laurent’s insides were twisting like snakes, and his head hurt from all that he had seen. Bodies being carried into the camp, shattered and disfigured. He had watched the life leave faces he knew so well. He had watched an arrow sinking into his father’s throat, blood staining the dirt around him. 

Auguste looked up to the other prince, he was close enough that laurent could see the anger and the pain in his blue eyes. An Akielon soldier made quick work of the ties around his wrists, letting Auguste’s hands fly to clutch at a wound in his stomach, stained red almost instantly. Damianos looked out at the camp, eyes scanning over the crowd. He locked eyes with Laurent, still struggling against the arms that held him back. 

“The battle is won,” He called, eye’s still fixed on the young prince.

~~

Laurent stepped up onto the dais that had been set up in a great hall. Windows rose all around him, casting columns of light over the two thrones. Damianos sat upon one already, a wreath laid about his head. Laurent wore the matching pair, the one he had been presented yesterday during the wedding. He lowered himself carefully onto a throne, feeling the chiton he wore ride up his thighs. The heavy gold cuffs he wore clinked softly on the arms of the throne. 

_ Their Highness’ Prince Damianos of Akielos and Prince Laurent of Vere. _

Laurent looked out over the crowd, his expression blank. He felt the presence of so many he knew, all here to celebrate him, him and his marriage to Damianos. 

The voice called out again, hushing the dull thundering of excitement; this time it announced the presence of Nikandros, a Kyros of Delpha. 

He felt familiar, his was face kind and warm at first, but the more you looked the more stern creases you saw. Though he couldn’t be any older than Damianos, he radiated a different, more mature, kind of energy. He stepped up the dais, a heavy burden within his arms. 

“Nikandros,” Damianos greeted the Kyros, his warm voice carrying a smile. They must be close, Laurent thought as he watched them greet each other. 

“Prince Damianos,” He returned. “Prince Laurent,” Nikandros turned to him and bowed, a smile eerily similar to Damianos’ across his face. He gifted them with a pair of stunning longswords, “ _ May you fight alongside each other as two heads of the same beast, and may your bond be as strong as the steel you wield”  _

Laurent found displeasure rising in his throat, he fought to keep it out of his eyes as he thanked the Kyros. The sentiment made him feel ill. 

Next was Prince Torveld, a jarringly familiar face in the crowd. 

“My brothers of Akielos,” he swept up onto the dais, bringing the familiar waft of sandalwood that seemed to seep into the air around him. The scent jarred a memory in Laurent’s head. 

  
  


He had been barely sixteen, old enough to know, old enough to fear. He remembered that sandalwood out on the balcony, churning in the night air. Torveld had been there on a visit, and despite the years between them they had become friends immediately. He would be the one person Laurent had ever considered a friend, as well as the reason he would never have another. 

“Laurent,” Toveld’s voice was quiet, the beard he had now no more than a whisper on his face. He looked happier, younger. 

“Torveld,” Laurent smirked, leaning back against the balcony, his fingers rested against vines on the cool stone. Torveld stepped closer, moving out of the doorway onto the balcony. 

“You sent for me?” Torveld took another step, moonlight glinting off of the bridge of his nose, strong and curved. 

“Odd,” Laurent looked firmly into his eyes, this was a game. “I don’t recall inviting you to join me, one would hope to remember asking a prince to his private chambers,” Laurents eyebrow quirked up in a challenge. Torveld moved closer again. The distance between them felt so small out on the little balcony, the night air was tepid with July heat. Toveld hummed.

“Ah, seems I must have let myself in then,” Laurent felt suddenly cornered, he pressed himself further into the railing, still looking up at Torveld’s face. 

“Tsk tsk. Where are your manners?” His eye flickered away from Torveld, breath picking up uncomfortably. Being with Torveld wasn’t usually like this, this felt so, intimate. It made Laurent’s neck feel hot and chest feel tight. 

“Manners are for court,” He grinned, his face wolfish and looming. “And as far I know I do believe we are alone, unless you’re hiding Guion in the ivy,” He chuckled. Him and Laurent nearly touched, they were so near to each other. Laurent felt his lips part,  _ god  _ he wished he wasn’t wearing that corset, breathing grew harder and harder. Anxiety bubbled in his stomach, he couldn’t bring himself to respond. 

“Why is it, you are so difficult to get alone, Laurent?” One of Torveld’s hands came down to cover one of Laurent’s. They were looking in each other's eyes, fear coursing through Laurent’s body like ice, his flesh breaking out into a cold sweat. 

_ “Stop,” _ Laurent’s voice shook, coming out barely louder than a breath. 

Toveld leaned his body down, breath catching in Laurents eyelashes. His lips were parting, ducking his face to meet with Laurent’s. They were so  _ close.  _

_ Crack.  _

Laurent’s open palm met with Torveld’s face,  _ hard.  _

  
  


“Prince Laurent,” Laurent was sitting on the throne again, knuckles white on the armrest. Torveld bowed to him, holding out something small. 

“Prince Torveld,” He felt sixteen again, overcome with confusion and fear, stiff as he took the gift from Torveld.

“Riding gloves, of the finest leather in Patras,” They were delicate and soft in Laurents hands, the leather more like silk to the touch. He didn’t deserve this fine a gift, not from Torveld. He was silent for too long, eyes tracing the seams in the gloves. Damianos spoke up, thanking Torveld where Laurent should have.

Torveld stepped off the dais. 

The next name called was a man Laurent didn’t know, Adrastus. Immediately, a finely dressed Akielon man stepped forward, a young boy following behind him. Laurent was quick to notice the man held very little in his hands. There was but a single golden key with a small bow tied around it. He turned his gaze to the boy. He looked younger than Erasmus, the same soft innocent look on his face, eyes looking down as he prostrated himself before Laurent. He was a slave, the key adrastus held Laurent came to realize could only fit one place, the collar around his neck. 

“A traditional gift for the newest Prince of Akielos, the first slave of one's household.” 

_ Slave,  _ Laurent thought. Not servant,  _ slave.  _

“Thank you, Adrastus. I have heard great things of the slaves that come from your keep,” a lie. Laurent tried to hide the disdain he felt for the slave industry as he thanked Adrastus and watched the slave move to kneel beside his throne. Something about the aura Adrastus carried with him, the possessive hautyness, he knew this was a man he never wanted to deal with. He cast a glance to the boy kneeling dutifully at his side, he looked scared out of his wits. He carried it well of course, Laurent assumed a lifetime living under Adrastus would teach one certain skills. But Laurent had spent his life under fear. He knew what it looked like. He leaned casually over closer to him, playing it off as reclining in his chair. 

“You don’t need to be afraid,” he whispered quietly, not daring to look directly at the slave, instead watching hollowly as another courtier was brought forward. “What is your name?” he could practically feel the anxiety coming from the slave. What was it about these damn Akielon slaves that pulled on his heart?

“This one’s name is Isander, My Prince,” Laurent gaged what his next move should be, what was the proper way to react to this? He’d only been in this situation once before with Erasmus… Erasmus. What had he said about slaves?  _ ‘To command any act of service is to honour a slave. The more personal the service, the greater the honour.’  _ There wasn’t much he could do at the moment, so he settled for delicately handing the gloves from Torveld out to him. 

“Would you hold these for me, Isander?” Isander looked up at him, brown eyes staring in seeming awe, a deep flush borne across his face. Suddenly none of that mattered to Laurent though, his gaze was torn away to Isander’s outstretched wrist. There, boldly emblazoned for the world to see was a small feather, just as much a part of his flesh as any freckle or mole. His soulmark. 

  
  
  
  


“Damianos?” Laurent spoke his name quietly, the dark silence of their room that night making his words echo louder than a shout. 

Damianos hummed, his voice warm and deep. Laurent worried for a moment he had woken him from a sleep.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Laurent played with the cuff at his wrist, staring to the ceiling, the corners of his eyes creating faint shapes of light in the dark corners. Laurent’s words were slow, it felt as if all he knew of Akielon was lost somewhere under his tongue. It happened more than he would like to admit around Damianos, but it helped that they often talked in Veretian. 

“You can ask me anything you wish, husband.” 

Laurent wondered if his asking was stupid, if he should have just stayed silent. Damianos waited. 

“It was about Isander.” 

“The slave?”

“Er, yes, I…” 

“Do you wish for me to call him for you?” Laurents eyes shot wide with shock, scrambling to look at a very confused Damianos. 

“No!” He answered, perhaps a little too loud. His chest heaved, flickering memories of his last encounter with a pleasure slave running through his mind. 

“I only,” he stabilized his breathing, slowly lowering himself back to the bed. “I had only hoped to ask about… about his soulmark. It’s not covered?” what should have been a statement slipped out with the question, his voice small with embarrassment over not knowing. He thought of the dark tattooed masses adorning pets in Vere. 

“I remember being shocked in Vere,” Damianos started, “to see the permanence in which soulmarks were covered. But I guess I understand, in Vere, pets are seen heavily as a commodity, no? Trading hands from one man to another,” Laurent nodded along with his words, listening raptly. Damianos spoke warmly, no hint of anything in his voice that would make Laurent feel belittled for not understanding. Aswell, Damianos spoke Veretian, something that hadn’t truly occured to Laurent until just now; whenever they spoke together, Damen had spoken Laurent’s mother tongue. The only small familiarity in a place to strange. 

“ I can understand why that could be something, distasteful, but in Akielos it is more than common to see someone with their soulmate as a concubine. To take away that opportunity for something so sacred… it is unheard of.” 

Laurent was struck suddenly, by how much sense that made to him. How many people had had that chance ripped away from them before they even knew what it truly meant? In a way they were just like Laurent, destined to never truly know a love so dearly coveted by all. 

He thought of Erasmus; the soft band of fabric always tied around his wrist. He looked down to his own wrist, the gold there an echo of Erasmus’ soft silk. It seemed to glow in the low light, reflecting snatches of his face. The yellow of the metal made his skin appear sallow, the curves twisted and warped him. He turned away, eyes falling upon Damianos’ cuff. He still wore his, like Laurent, even though Laurent was almost certain that wasn’t custom. His eyes traced their way up Damianos’ arm, strong and muscled, and found his face resting as in sleep. His eyes were shut, his strong jaw hung loose. Laurent stared at his profile. He wondered how many others had lain like this, watching him sleep from the comfort of the pillow next to him. He wondered if they had known they weren’t his soulmate, he wondered if they cared. Oh to be the soulmate of the great Damianos. The Crown Prince who could best any fighter in battle and in bed. Laurent closed his eyes, watching as faces loomed out of the dark behind them. The servant girl whose gaze lingered just a little too long, the fighter who looked like he was made of copper. It could be anyone, Laurent knew that. Anyone but him. Perhaps it was some lowborn, never to know they bore the same mark as their prince. What a wicked fate, he sneered to himself. 

  
Perhaps it was the hour, or perhaps he had truly gone mad, but Laurent found himself wondering if he could ever grow to love Damianos. Love him like his father and mother had loved each other; joined, and powerful. Laurent had heard the stories of them, the Veretian prince and the Kemptian princess, both blessed with beautiful faces and sharp minds, bound together to rule, casting out fate. They had never been soulmates, but somehow that didn’t matter, what they had was almost more powerful. For Vere, for Kempt, for Laurent and Auguste. _For Vere_ , Laurent thought, an image of himself swirling in his mind’s eye. He stood by Damianos’ side, something akin to love on his face. Joined, powerful. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of the comments and kudos <3 y'all are too nice to me and my subpar fics 
> 
> xo
> 
> Addie

Damen roared with laughter, he could feel the familiar warmth of wine in his throat and the comfort that came from being around Nikandros. Laurent by Damen’s side, gently pushing around food on the end of a silver fork; the banquet had long since regressed into raucous chatter and storytelling. Some childhood tale hung in the air, a distant memory of being young and stupid at the side of his best friend. Nikandros echoed his laughter. 

“I hadn’t realized how awfully close you two used to be. I might learn to be wary of letting my husband alone with you, Kyros” Laurent spoke tenderly, a joke, Damen realized, in perfectly accented Akielon, no less. It almost shocked him. Laurent hadn’t spoken once this evening, and he hadn’t heard Laurent speak so casually or comfortably since the time they had met in Vere. It was jarring, to say the least. Where had the Laurent he knew gone? And when had he learned to speak akielon this well? 

It seemed he wasn’t the only one shocked by Laurent’s words; he watched as Nikandros choked on his wine and was left spluttering and wide eyed.

“Oh I couldn’t agree with that more,” Laurent moved to pick up his own untouched goblet of wine. “The wine here is intolerable, I simply can’t understand why you still drink it,” He swirled the contents of his cup, he looked bored. 

Nikandros regained his composure, looking in curiosity towards Laurent. 

“You are young, my prince, what could you possibly know about wine?” 

Damen watched as Laurent leaned over the table, a face of terrifyingly well composed amiability on his face as he spoke, voice low enough that only Nikandros and himself could possibly hear. 

“You would be surprised, dear Kyros, there are many things I know,” It felt as if all the air had drained from the room. “Do you truly believe a Veretian would set foot inside the lions den without knowing how to take down the pride?” Laurent drained his glass of wine. 

  
  


Laurent’s words lingered, a heavy weight in the back of Damen’s mind even days later. It pressed behind the backs of his eyes, warping his vision and casting shadows. It bothered him, to feel like this. It bothered him that he didn’t understand, that he couldn’t piece together Laurent’s behaviour. It felt like he had been lied to, like someone had been slowly sliding a knife into his flesh only to twist the blade. He pushed aside the letter he was writing, pressing a rough palm deep into his eye; pushing back at the pressure. Laurent was off somewhere, tucked away someplace out of sight as he so often was. Damen rarely saw his husband. It was a wonder how something that had seemed like such a wild change could turn out to be so unsettlingly evasive. Months, they had been married. Spring had fled, Laurents birthday had come and passed. And yet he was a stranger. He traced over all he knew of Laurent in his mind, and found the list uncomfortably short. He knew so little, and had revealed so much. His realization came with a sickening lurch in his stomach. He shouldn’t be allowing himself to think these things, he hadn’t for so long, but they were there, just under the surface waiting to bubble up. _ “You would be surprised, dear Kyros.” _ Damen felt memories rushing into the room with him, filling the air around him. All of the times Laurent had stood silently by, watching, listening, learning. All of the times he had entered their chambers, the conversation within being abruptly stopped. Laurent and his slave, no, servant, Erasmus suddenly tight lipped. All of his probing questions felt sinister. He thought of all the times him and Laurent had been alone together, how different he was around Damen. Soft, anxious. An act, his mind screamed. Gods, it was so clear now. It was an act, it had to be. Laurent, molding himself to everything he knew Damen responded to. Weak, tender, confused. He had thought that was the real Laurent, the interior of the hard shell he wore. But now Damen just felt confused, what was the act? How long had he been fooled by it? How long had he played right into Laurents open palm? He suddenly found himself standing, looking around the room, disoriented.  _ “Do you truly believe a Veretian would set foot inside the lions den without knowing how to take down the pride?”  _

  
  
  


“Nikandros!” Damen pounded on the door, sweeping in as it opened. Nikandros looked tired, there was ink on his hands. 

“I didn’t expect you, it is late,” Nikandros followed Damen into his rooms at the palace, the night air sticky with the rains of late summer. 

“I need…” Damen sighed, falling into one of the chairs at the small table. “I need your council.” He ran an anxious hand through his hair. 

“In what matter?” Nikandros sat across from him, eyes boring into Damen. It had been a long time since he had come seeking advice like this.

“Prince Laurent.” Their eyes met. 

“What about your husband brings you to me at this hour?” Nikandros feigned a laugh, it sounded nervous more than anything. Damen looked at his childhood friend, pleading that he wouldn’t regret his next words.

“I fear his loyalty,” It rang in the air, an accusation dangerous for even a prince to make. Any other would be charged, at the very least. 

“I see…” Nikandros hesitated, “I trust you Damen, but are you sure you want to do this? Our relationship with Vere is… delicate.”

“Delicate,” Damianos let a huff out of his nose. “I ran my sword through their Crown Prince when I was a teenager, delicate is an understatement,” his tongue pushed at the backs of his teeth. “I have nothing to substantiate this, no proof. But god, Nik, you heard what he said!” 

“What else.” Nikandros’ face was stern, he was leaning forward over the table. 

“What else?” 

“Yes, what else. You wouldn’t be in such a state over one remark. What else has he done.” 

Damen ran a hand over his face, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” he was regretting being here, but maybe Nik could help. Maybe he saw it too. 

“I’ve been your friend for as long as I can remember, I already do. Spit it out,” He tipped his chin at Damen. 

  
  


Damen spent the next week with an eye trained casually on his husband. He took notice of the little things, the ones that watered the vine of suspicion. The way Laurent spoke perfect Akielon, yet slurred and stumbled his words around Damen. To make me underestimate him, Damen’s conscience screamed. The way Laurent watched him back, eyes never leaving his movements. Cataloging, mimicking. He would look at the stroke of flush on porcelain cheeks and wonder how someone with such a delicate face could have such a conniving mind. A snake had slithered its way into the nest, a snake with pale hands and glassy blue eyes. 

  
  


Damen found himself staring one night, watching the flicker of candlelight over marble flesh. Laurent moved with the kind of poised grace a prince was supposed to have, Damen wondered what book he had balanced on his head as a child. They sat together at the head of a great table, dressed in finery, pressed close together, united in regality. He was half watching Laurent, half listening to the table when some comment rang out into the din that made Laurent prickle. The slightest stutter in his movements. It was enough. 

“Tell us, Damianos,” the mans words were slurred, heavy with griva and bravado, “What’s the Ice Prince like in bed? Warm up, does he?” 

Damen’s memory flashed with the memory of that first night, Laurent, so young, sobbing, half dressed in his arms. It had been so long since he had thought about that, it felt like a ghost, covered with new suspicion. But no, that was real. Whatever else Laurent might have inside his head, that was real. His face was hot in anger at the man, but his voice came out warm. 

“That’s not for you to know, my friend,”  _ nor is it for me to know. _

The tabel tittered on, whispering of the illicit lives of princes behind gossamer sleeves, pulled away from their gossip only to spare an eye for the slave sauntering into the room. Except it wasn’t a slave, the young man in green silks could be nothing other than a Veretian pet. 

As late as it was, they were dining by candlelight. Torches forgotten on the walls in their sconces, abandoned instead for the allure of dim autumn banquets, the air scented with warm spices and figs. The pet who walked in drew eyes quickly, of course he did - his hair was long and red, something not commonly seen this far south. Laurent had turned his face, and if you didn’t look close enough you might have thought he was watching the pet - but Damen was looking closer, of course he was. Laurents eyes were foggy and unfocused, he looked deep in thought. It was a shock to Damen then, when he felt the cool and delicate press of Laurent’s hand on his thigh. He sucked a breath in, not knowing where to place his eyes, now that he knew Laurent was aware of him, in one way or another. Laurent’s hand was like marble against his leg, pulling warmth from his skin, but rubbing small delicate circles that no statue could. The pet was doing something, Damen could see the light of flames in the corner of his vision, but he somehow found his eyes tracing the lines of Laurent’s body. The sweet curve of his jaw, tight, in his contemplation, the fall of his hair, braided and delicate, moving ever so slightly with the rise and fall of Laurent’s chest, his breaths steady. He wished more than anything he knew what was happening inside his mind. What was he doing? Damen resolutely ignore the odd stirrings somewhere in the pit of his stomach.  _ Warm up, does he? _

  
  


\--

Laurent pushed open the door to his chambers, finding Erasmus waiting for him within. 

“Tonight,” he spoke, pulling lose the end of his braid. 

\--

  
  


Damen wandered back through the familiar halls of Ios, great pillars swimming in shadows and the wine emptied from his goblet. There was that warm spicy taste in the back of his throat that came with overindulgence, and it had admittedly been a while since he had found himself stumbling over his own sandals like this. He dragged his heels along marble as he came to the doors of his chamber, nudging through them quietly - Laurent was probably asleep. 

Laurent it turned out, was anything but asleep. Damen struggled to take in the tableau before him, his eyes heavy and drifting. Laurent was perched atop their bed, long legs bare, and folded neatly underneath him. His body was draped in a thin shift, the airy fabric translucent under Damens gaze. Damen felt his breathing grow heavy, watching as Laurent shifted in a way that let one shoulder slip free of the garment. 

“Husband,” Laurent purred, peeking out from behind his curtains of long hair. Damen thought back, when had Laurent ever called him ‘husband’?    
  


“Laurent?” Damen shifted, closing the door. They were well and truly alone. 

“Damen,” Laurent called back, their eyes locked. 

Damen tried to blink away the wine pushing through him, willing the gods to lend him rational thought. Laurent swept off the bed, hands clutching at his shift as he made his way across the room. He stepped closer to Damen, and then even closer, golden cuff mirroring the smattering of candles in the room as he reached out to place a hand on Damens cheek. 

Laurents words felt like tiny brushes of heat, quiet, but so  _ close _ Damen felt like somehow this must have been some wine drunk illusion. I’ve seen you watching me, he whispered, pushing his face close to Damen’s. His skin against Damen’s face felt as soft as the wings on a moth. 

“I know you want me, husband,” Their lips were touching. “I think I want you too.”

Damen’s world was on fire, and he couldn’t bring himself to do anything but let it burn. 

They moved together so well, in their dance of princes. The room was perfumed with intoxication and passion. Damen’s brain whirled, spitting out thoughts at random; like how Laurent tasted like Akielon spices, or that Laurent kissed the same as he sparred - like he wanted to win. Damen relished in the press of their warm bodies, in the familiar smell of Laurent, in the excitement of kissing. Movements harsh and fast turned languid and smooth, Laurent hiccupped with laughter when they bumped against the bed and fell onto it. Damen’s weight thudded on top of him before he could stop it, eliciting a squeak and a mumbled,  _ giant animal.  _

It had been so long since he had done this, so long since he had joined another like this. But even without the film of time this was different. This was  _ Laurent.  _ Laurent kissed like a young teen, anxious and soft. Blue fabric slipped between them like water, and when Damen pulled back to look at Laurent he noticed how the tone mirrored his eyes. Laurent was a vision, laid out on his back in front of him. All of Damen’s weaknesses coalesced into one being. He could hear the rational voice in the back of his head, telling him to stop, to pull away. He was falling right into the trap, into the pit of snakes. 

“You’re staring,” Laurent’s words were soft.

“You’re beautiful,” Damen’s heart thudded heavy in his chest, his mind foggy and his face hot. 

The stars shone bright over Akielos, watching as the world flipped round again, searching desperately for the right way up. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note if this isn't clear! This takes place two days after the wedding, back in the spring :)

Springtime, Ios, two days after the wedding.

  
Laurent awoke to the sun on his face, his hair matted and curled from yesterday’s braids as he combed his fingers through it. He sat there, on the edge of his new bed for sometime, eyes unfocused. His hands pulled at the mats in his hair, tugging harder than maybe he needed to, simply to feel the sharp bite on his scalp. He eventually noticed the note waiting for him, a small thing, weighted by a single delicate flower.

What was with this sap and giving out flowers? Laurent held the delicate parchment in his hands, the memory of the first time he sparred with Damianos flooding his mind. Hot shame rushed through him. Gods he had been so uncomposed.

He dressed quickly, ignoring with a set jaw the delicate riding gloves lain on his desk. He wouldn’t let something like that bother him, no, he would be the perfect vision of Veretian restraint - he wasn’t a child, he was a prince of Vere. And Akielos, his mind whispered. He ignored that as well.

  
Eventually Laurent found his way to the training area, his mind still tracing over the twists and turns of the palace at Ios. His feet padded onto sand as he walked into the light. The sun was hot on his skin - the early spring temperature in Akielos already reminding him of the dry heat of Veretian summers.

“Laurent!” Damianos jogged over to him, a sword already in hand. “I didn’t know whether you would come,” he smiled “I’m glad you did,” they stood there for a moment, Damianos grinning warm like the sun, and Laurent trying desperately not to think about the last time they had sparred.

Damianos’ eyes flicked behind Laurent, turning his attention to the young face appearing next to him. Isander presented a sword out to Laurent, it's handle fine and carved despite being a training weapon.

“Thank you, Isander,” Laurent turned to Damen, weapon finding its way into a familiar grip. His eyes narrowed into concentration. “Ready?” Laurent leaned forward into his stance. He watched as Damianos’ face changed. He looked almost… surprised? Isander stepped back.

“So serious,” Damianos looked relaxed, a lightness in his shoulder and the corners of his eyes crinkled. His voice carried the tint of a laugh, “Let’s make this fun, what do you say?”

“Fun?” Laurent held his stance.

“Yes, fun. Come on, let’s make a game of it,” he looked like a great puppy, Laurent thought as Damianos urged him to suggest an idea.

“Fine. we spar until one of us knocks away the others sword - winner gets to ask a question,” Laurent's grip tightened on his hilt. It was a game Auguste had made up. Damianos however was smiling, seemingly glad laurent was playing along. He chuckled, casually reminding Laurent that they were husbands, Laurent could ask him anything he wanted, but readied his stance nonetheless.

A dull and heavy crack resounded through the air as wood struck wood, Laurent gritting his jaw at the sharp pang it sent up his arm. But he couldn’t deny the rush fighting gave him, that kind of raw energy that only soldiers and gods possessed coursing through him. Maybe this could be fun he thought, darting out of the way of Damianos’ blade. He hadn’t had fun since he was home - if he could even still count Vere to be his home.

Laurent blinked and his sword hit the sand. Damianos stood before him, barely out of breath, smiling. Laurent cursed his distractedness, suddenly nervous as to what Damianos would ask him. His gold cuff was heavy on his wrist.

“What do you think of Akielos? Truly,” God could this man get any more boring? Laurent, despite himself found a part of himself missing Auguste, the one from years ago, with his familiar grin whispering the kind of questions that had Laurent flushing and swatting at his arm. “Were you staring at the Patran Princess last night? No? Ah… so it was the Prince,” “Auguste!”

“Your country is beautiful,” Laurent folded to pick up his sword. “Its people are kind and sentimental. Although it is confusing to me, in Vere, such a government would crumble. It is a country fitting of its prince,” Laurent looked up into his eyes as Damianos stepped closer to him.

“You are a Prince of Akielos too now, Laurent. I should hope she is fitting of us both,” Damianos stood close now, Laurent made no move to step back.

“And I should hope you haven’t forgotten our game,” Laurent moved with a burst of sudden speed and agility to knock Damianos’ wooden sword right from his hand. Laurent relished in his trick, trying not to think about what had just been said to him.

Damianos laughed long and hard at that, some comment about Veretian tricks tumbling out amidst the noise. Laurent prodded him with the tip of his sword, pushing a question into his ribs on the blunt end of his blade.

They carried on for a good while - even in autumn the sun beating down on their skin. Laurent felt like a cut flower, wilting and burning under his hot clothing, but Damianos glowed in the sun, drinking it in like sweet Akielon wine.

Damianos was winning steadily, tossing out questions as they went.

“You aren’t wearing Akielon clothing, is it not to your taste?”

“It’s short and impractical. I don’t understand your counties apparent fixation upon revealing as much of oneself as possible.”

  
“I was told you brought no slaves or pets with you except the Akielon, why is that? I thought it custom to have a personal pet.”

“I do not find I want one, Erasmus is enough to keep me company,” Laurent weathered Damianos’ questions, wondering if maybe they were more meaningful to him than they outwardly seemed.

  
Laurent was tiring heavily by the time Damianos began to swing the questions towards soulmates, asking Laurent if people traditionally married their soulmates in Vere. They didn’t. Laurent’s arms were shaking and sore when he finally managed to get Damianos’ sword away from him. He was panting heavily, his palms on his knees, hunched over with a loose strand of hair falling in his eyes. He swallowed hard, his mind to full of the sound of combat to truly think about what he was asking.

“Do you know who your soulmate is?” Laurent looked up through his lashes at his husband, who stood before him, chest heaving.

“I don’t have one,” Damianos dragged the tip of his wooden sword through the sand. “I was born without one,” he chuckled to himself and looked out to where they could see rows of trees growing, but Laurent could tell he was looking past them. “Kastor used to say it was because I had been cursed, that it meant I was never to love. Father said it was because I was to become a great king, that my true soulmate would be Akielos. Mother…” Laurent looked at Damianos, wondering if he could hear the throbbing of his heart. He felt almost faint. Damianos trailed off, a faint smile on his lips.

“And Egeria?” Damianos looked back to him, his mother’s name hanging on Laurent's tongue. He had barely meant to speak, finding his curiosity froth out of him like the the bubbles of champagne spilling out of a cup.

“Mother would tell me that perhaps there was someone else out there without one. That not having a soulmark was a soulmark in itself,” he drew a quick slash in the sand. “A child’s fantasy, I’m sure it was just a mistake - there are probably loads of people without them,” Laurent felt somewhere in between like he was going to hurl and he was going to float away, his body felt insubstantial - the only thing left was his racing mind.

  
“You’re not a mistake,” Laurent's words were rushed and perhaps a little too loud. It just felt like it had tumbled out of him. He cursed himself for his words, immediately composing himself under Damianos’ gaze, one of his thick brows raised. “I mean- I- you-“

“Thank you,” Damianos said, his eyes holding a kind of depth Laurent was growing to recognize from his husband, one that always confused him. How had this man survived in this world long enough with that kind of naive innocence and trust? How had no one thought to beat it out of him? Or maybe, maybe they had tried. “Kastor used to say it was because I had been cursed” maybe there was just something strong enough about this man before him that he had retained it - whether from stubbornness or from some other kind of naiveté, it had stayed. And now he stood before Laurent, telling him something that should have been a deep dark secret, pulling open the cavity of his chest on the simple notion that Laurent was his husband, he could ask him anything.

Laurent could suddenly feel all of his ties, all the straps and pieces, in that moment they existed only to constrict his breathing and to keep his heart from pushing itself out between his ribs. He tried to stabilize himself, ground himself upon the sand, but his world was pulsing along with the blood behind his eyes. Some voice in his head, some fiend hell-bent on pushing him from the cliff he stood upon chanted Damianos’ words back to him. Egeria’s words, the late Queen of Akielos - a woman who might have been his mother once. That not having a soulmark was a soulmark in itself. It had never been an idea Laurent had considered, never had it even crossed his mind. There were more people like him, there was someone else like him. Someone standing right in front of him, bound to him by a golden cuff and a deal. His husband.

No. Lauren'ts mind raced, he clenched his jaw. No. He was being foolish, there was a reason he had never thought of it - it was an idea thought of by people with peachfuzz clogging their thoughts, sentimental barbarians who couldn’t bear the idea of not living beside their perfect soulmate. He pressed his tongue hard against the roof of his mouth, ignoring the desperate scream in his head feeding him fantasies and lies. Damianos, he felt the name swell in his mouth like bile, the tainted smell of Marlas forcing its way into his nose - a phantom memory. If he could just remember that day, the way the sun fell on Auguste’s hair, glinting off the red in his hands, the way Damianos stood, raising his sword to the sky, doused in a princes blood. He forced himself to remember, replaying that moment over and over like some masochistic mantra. Damianos. Damianos. Damianos. His enemy, screamed the pain and betrayal in his gut. His husband, said the gold on his wrist, warm from his body. His soulmate, echoed a voice, muffled and panicked, the shrill voice of a child, smudgy ink stained wrist abandoned for a living breathing man. Damianos. Dami-

Clack. Damianos’ sword crashed down upon his own, he watched it fall limply from his grasp.

“Did you forget your own game already?” Damianos smiled that warm smile once again, cutting into Laurent’s restraint as he had cut into countless men at Marlas. And yet, as hard as he willed their conversation to be cast into the sand with his weapon, Laurent couldn’t shove away that tiny childlike glimmer in his heart. It lodged itself somewhere in his throat, like the pit of an olive accidentally swallowed. He wasn’t choking on it, no, not yet. Be he could feel it, small and intrusive, refusing to be pushed down. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note if this isn't clear! This takes place two days after the wedding, back in the spring

_ Autumn, Ios, the morning after the banquet _

Laurent could feel the heat of Damen’s body pressed against his own, he could feel the firm muscles in his arms as he ran his fingers delicately over them. Porcelain tracing ghostly white over olive. He lay there, feeling as if he could almost cry. So much had happened, he was… overwhelmed. He could still hear the echoes of last night, sweet noises rigning against marble, the quiet wet noises of kissing, like a mouth leaving a juicy nectarine, his own voice calling a name he had hardly dared to speak for years. He wondered somehow if that had truly been him - wrapped in soft fabric and strong limbs. Were they not someone else's memories? Pushed into his mind through some elaborate story? No, it had been him, he could still feel the … sensation of it. 

“Damen,” he cooed, brushing his nose close to his lovers ear. He looked over the wide plains of his face, hard and strong - familiar. More so than he ever thought possible. Brown eyes opened lazily to meet with his, a flash of something potent and burning behind them. He had seen it last night, he had been catching snatches of it for weeks. But the full force of it now, sober and unrestrained struck him like a blow. 

“I have to go,” Damianos turned from him, pushing up on strong arms. He stepped away from their bed, his motions still slowed by sleep. Laurent watched him dress, it was simple enough he didn’t need to call a slave - the room was silent save for the rustling of heavy fabric. Laurent steeled himself from rubbing furiously at his eyes as Damianos moved to leave. Laurent begged in silence for him to turn around, for him to give an explanation, a goodbye, anything. But Damianos slipped out of the room, never turning to catch Laurent’s pleading gaze. It was as if he had taken all the air in the room with him, stealing it away somewhere under his chiton. Laurent felt the hot burn of tears in his eyes, and realized as he tried to pull the blanket over his body he was shaking. He was still naked, awfully so - his body on display to the cool air until he managed to frantically cover himself. He could feel his lungs struggling to keep up with the sobs coming out of his mouth, strangled and high. Why? Laurent knew as well as Damen that today was Sunday, it was their day of leisure. So why had he left?  _ Because you’re an idiot _ his mind screamed, cursing any thought he had ever had that involved soulmates or Damen or anything in between. How could he have been so foolish, he let this man take him, let them be joined so intimately, for what reason? A stupid hope. A misguided lie. But what hurt the most was that it was his fault. There was nobody to blame but himself, for believing, for hoping - for thinking he could grow to love this man, someone he had always known to be a betrayer and a murderer. 

With every hiccup he wished for his brother. Auguste, the man who had brought him here, who had ignore him and sent him to marry the barbarian prince. His brother,  _ his brother.  _ He clutched a pillow to himself and he was fifteen again, snotting all over his brothers doublet, cursing the gods and his stupid barren wrist. But Auguste was in Vere, perched on some throne in Arles, busy, and Laurent was in Akielos, trapped in the heart of Ios with no one to cry to. A prince of two countries, a master swordsman and equestrian - a snivelling child. He cursed his weak resolve for ignoring Auguste’s betrayal so quickly, but the strangling ache in his chest cried out for the one comfort he had always had by his side. Lost to him by kingship and marriage. He hadn’t even said goodbye when his brother had left for their home. No, for Auguste’s home. This was Laurent’s home now. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


It had been a week since Damen had seen more than a glimpse of Laurent. A whole week, spent pacing and and angry. He had let himself fall into a trap, caught unawares by the snake coiled within his nest. He was foolish, he knew it every time he replayed the fuzzy memories of that night, watching himself be seduced. He could almost hear Nik telling him off in his mind - “I thought we talked about you drawing back for the time being? Since when does ‘drawing back’ include sticking your cock in him? I swear it, Vere will topple us with a single blonde… gods save us all.” He had been weak willed, putting passion over judgement, but somehow now, after so long, he almost missed Laurent. He missed the accented conversation they would have, he missed the foreign scent he wore. It made him even angrier, to know that even now he was trapped within Laurent’s delicate grasp. A broken glass lay shattered nearby, glaring at Damen, reminding him of life’s constants. Marble will always be stronger than glass. Every man has a fault. Every man will fall. Throwing the glass had been a moment of anger. He needed to cool down, to push sense into him head. This was too much like it had once been, the distance, the silence. It felt like spring again, he thought, walking somewhere he could be alone. It felt like spring, when Laurent had been a ghost in the palace, unfamiliar, pale. It had been as if he had never taken off his wedding silks - bathed in some thin film, separated from life. Perhaps that’s why it shocked Damen so to see Laurent standing there on the veranda, long hair whipping around his head in the fierce wind. Everything about him looked alive. The way his hair shot back and forth like flame, the tense muscles in his back, visible even through fabric. Laurent looked hewn from the very tapestry life was made from. 

He was looking out over the cliffs, back turned to Damen, leaning out over the marble. At a glimpse he might have looked peaceful. Damen spoke without thinking.

“Laurent,” He turned around slowly, measured and careful. He didn’t meet Damen’s eyes. 

“What are you doing here,” there were tears on his face, glistening and wet. Clouds roiled in thunder behind them and the sea bit hard against jutting rocks. 

“I would think much the same as you,” their voices were muffled in the storm, everything smothered out by nature, as if she couldn’t bear to have anything out do her mighty display. She cared nothing for the lives of princes, all disputes felt dampened in comparison to the battle between cloud and sky. Laurent looked back to the sea. 

The smell of salt in the air brought Damen back to childhood, playing and running, feet pushing against sand and rock in pursuit of some great joy. He imagined how it must be sticking to Laurent’s hair, tossed so helplessly in the wind. He would smell like that salt, bitingly natural and rough. Damen imagined running his hands through the knots and twists born of sky, pulling the smell of salt close to him. 

“I had never seen the ocean before,” Laurent’s voice shocked Damen back to where he stood.

“Huh?”

“Never. Auguste had always said we would see it together one day,” his face turned to the side - Damen could see the tears again. “Funny, how fate weaves her net,” Laurent made no move to swipe at the wetness on his face. 

“Fate,” Damen paused, trying to grasp the things Laurent spoke of, “Is that what this is? Has it not always been politics?” he watched himself take a step closer as if it wasn’t him moving his body at all. 

“I thought it might have been, once. Fate. But I was mistaken,” Laurent shone bright against grey sky, a golden vision, a god dressed in laces and sorrow. “Fate hath never spoke my name,” His words were spears thrown into the wind, curses uttered at the expense of those who dared listen. 

“Laurent… ” 

“Damianos,” Laurent’s eyes pierced into his own, sharp and cruel. His face twisted and suddenly a noise bubbled from Laurent, caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “I was stupid, I was a fool.” 

“I have never known you to be a fool, Laurent,” Damen could feel contempt seeping into his voice. Laurent was no fool. No fool could trick a man raised to be king so justly and fully. 

“You are mistaken, you have known me to be nothing else. You have not known me at all,”  _ No _ , Damen thought,  _ I haven’t _ . 

  
  


“You distrust me, Damianos,” Laurent spoke through Damen’s silence.  _ Damianos. _ Laurent had called him Damen once, but it felt so far away, so long removed. A dream. A name uttered in a lover's voice, left behind somewhere tangled in sheets and passion. “You see me as a threat, you see a facade,” Damen could feel weeks of tension building in him, was this an admission? “A foolish notion, even for you.” Laurent’s hair flew about his head. A golden halo, a crown. “I hide nothing but my fear. I am nothing more than a useless child, thrown from the crib. I thought… I thought if I…” Damen was struck once again, as he had been once long ago, by how young Laurent really was. He stood before Damen, barely a young man, flooded in tears. This was his torturous reality - Laurent had been raised like this, for this, always in shadow, always in fear.  _ Fear of you _ , a voice spoke in his head, barely audible over the screams of wind. “I was cruel to you,” Laurent spoke, but Damen could only think of how cruel he had become himself. “I was brash and nearsighted, even when you were never anything less than kind to me, more so than I ever deserved. I feel as if I owe you a debt.” Laurent looked to his hands, pale and clasped over the stone in front of him. 

“No debt is owed between us, Laurent. You wanted none of this, a marriage orchestrated by kings to a man you must despise,” Damen’s breath felt thick and cool in his chest. 

“I do not despise you, Damianos.” 

“You need not lie to me.” 

“No, I know my words, Damianos. I do not hate you, not as I once did,” Laurents nails scraped against stone, the tips of his fingers likely raw from the thoughtless movement. “You were always the flame beneath my toes, an everburning hatred. I can still remember Marlas so clearly, Brother, Father, so many others…” he trailed off lightly, “You. I didn’t think you could ever be more to me than that until you told me of your soulmark. I was so stupid, I let myself believe this all might have been destiny,” Laurent had an awful sneer painted on his beautiful face. “It is laughable, to know that I laid with you that night thinking you might have been my soulmate,” the silence ran long, digging into Damen as he failed to grasp what Laurent had meant. 

“You know I have no soulmark, Laurent, my skin is bare,” He could feel the cuff on his wrist, the cold all around them seeping into the metal. 

“And what a cruel joke it was that the gods played, letting you tell me that. I can almost hear their laughter,” Laurent shifted, hands pulling away from the ledge to fumble with tugging up his sleeve. It was then that Damen noticed Laurent’s cuff, laying discarded a few feet away from them. Laurent bared his wrist to Damen. 

Laurent’s wrist was ghostly pale. It was strikingly, helplessly unmarked. Blank.

“I thought I might have been wrong, that years of pain were all for naught,” Laurents face was twisted into an unreadable yet strikingly soft expression, “But I was mistaken. I tried, I let you take me so I would know for certain - and now I do,” Laurent clutched at his wrist, staring at Damen, “We simply share a curse, not a fate.” 

Damen was a child again, Laurent’s blonde hair and the fierce autumn wind lost, replaced by the humming of his mother. He could hear the crunch of their footsteps as they walked through the garden, his hand clasped by hers.  _ “Don’t listen to your brother, the things he says are cruel - he knows not of what he speaks. You will find them someday,”  _ she squeezed his hand, looking down upon his tiny face,  _ “You will find the one out there meant to be yours, I swear it upon the the sun and all her maidens. There will be a day you shall look upon their face and know the world has found its course. The stars will shine bright over Akielos, my son, they will shine for your love.”  _

Damen looked to Laurent, hair catching in the tears on his face. They stood close, close enough that when Damianos reached out he was near enough to gently grasp Laurent’s wrist, closing it in his palms. “Are curses not drawn from the same ink as fate?” he looked to Laurent’s face, staring wordlessly back to him. “Perhaps the future knows more than we ever will, but Laurent if you would let me I would stand to face it by your side,” Laurent was silent as Damen bent down, laying a gentle kiss against the cool skin of Laurent’s wrist, murmuring his words against flesh, “I do not ask you to love me, not today, nor ever if you wish, but I ask to stand alongside you, as I always should have.” 

Laurent tipped Damen’s chin upwards, looking into his eyes. It felt as if in spite of the wind that Damen heard Laurent’s voice, so soft and quiet. But though it should have been lost to the storm he heard it, a name he never thought could have held so much - 

  
  


_ Damen _


End file.
